The Sword of Martin: Book 1
by pwmarlfox
Summary: A young mousemaid and a woodland fox must both realize and fulfill their destinies. Characters by me, and members of an RP club. BOOK 1 NOW COMPLETE.
1. Book 1, Chapter 1

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Book 1  
_Reunions and Meetings_

Chapter 1

Extract from the journal of Germaine, Mother Abbess of Redwall Abbey.

It is a perfect summer afternoon today, almost so that I almost did not wish to take the time to sit down and write down today's happenings in my journal. Construction on our great Abbey never ceases; it has been said that it will be finished in the end of three seasons. Spring will be the perfect time to complete the Abbey! It reminds me so much of the old Loamhedge Abbey. Loamhedge-- it must be seasons deserted now. I only hope that our Redwall Abbey will stand to be as old as I am. Not that I am dead yet, as somebeasts seem to think. They're always yelling in my ear, thinking I must be deaf or something. Well, enough of that confounded yelling and I soon will be! I thank the seasons for my seashell trumpet that I keep in case I cannot hear what somebeast is saying (they seem to have a liking to whispering). The day hasn't shown itself yet when I really_ needed my trumpet; I just keep it with me in case..._

[At this point in the page is a great stain, most likely an old inkstain acquired sometime during the journal's long life in the gatehouse.]

...still off on their journey to the northern coast. Columbine has taken care of me while our Warrior Martin is gone, besides looking after her little Gonflet (he's the roguish ringleader of our Abbeybabes, or Dibbuns as we call them). Poor Columbine, she never ceases to worry about her mousethief Gonff, although she tries to hide it. But she can never fool me. Few beasts can. Martin wanted very much to learn what had become of his father, Luke, as I think I recall his name being; nobeast around here has ever seen him nor known much about him. I for one would like to know more about our Warrior Martin. Well, it was only natural that Gonff, his always-singing lifelong companion, and Dinny Foremole, should go along with him to the shoreline caves he had once lived in as a Dibbun. I feel sorry for that hedgehog maid Trimp in the company of a thieving mouse and a flattering mole.

I certainly wouldn't mind being along with those four on an adventure, except I don't think my old bones could handle it. Now as for Martin, he is a true Warrior. Not anybeast can do what he has done, such as defeating the evil wildcat Tsarmina and surviving all those ghastly wounds she gave him. In the words of a mousethief, specifically Gonff, Martin was so close to death then that he could touch it (or steal it, like one would expect a mousethief to say). I guess his miraculous survival is just one of the many mysteries surrounding that mousewarrior. Many mysteries, yes, I could tell the very day I met Martin, our great founder at Redwall, that there was much about him that none of us would ever know in ours or our children's lifetime...

.

A creak on the gatehouse door announced the coming of an intruder to the privacy of the old, dusty room. Quickly, Leslie the young mousemaid slammed shut the ancient record book from which she had been reading and transferred a loose stack of papers on top of it. "What have you been doing in here, Leslie? I'm the onlybeast who should have to be stuck in the gatehouse on a day like this," chuckled Brother Lucas at the ironic situation.

"Would it be asking too much for you to knock before sneaking in and scaring a beast like that?"

"Now, hold it, little missie, I always knock, especially when I know that somebeast is here in my gatehouse day after day instead of helping Friar Gringle in the kitchens."

"Don't change the subject, Brother Lucas. Friar Gringle can go one fine without me getting in the way all the time."

"That's not what he said; and besides, now _you're_ changing the subject."

"Oh?" Leslie slowly made her way away from the old record books, hoping to make it to the door.

"Yes, I asked you what you were doing," Lucas began, but noticing the uncomfortable look on the mousemaid's face he ceased his persistence. "Never mind, Sister Polly sent me to look for you. She says she needs somebeast to help pick the apples from the orchard before Friar Gringle goes and bakes a pie with no filling. Go along now, I told the Friar that's why you couldn't help in the kitchens today."

Leslie gratefully brushed past Brother Lucas and went outside, closing the door behind her so he could have the room to himself for his daily task of the Abbey recording. "Thank you, Brother Lucas," she called as the door shut and she made her way down the steps of the outer wall to the orchard.

Brother Lucas eased his way into the old gatehouse chair; he imagined that his joints must have been creaking along with the chair's. What had Leslie been so interested in when he came in? Certainly she wasn't just organizing the books like she often said she was; she had purposely left a stack of papers strewn on the desk. Carefully, Lucas restacked the old browned papers and stowed them away on an empty space on a shelf. Beneath them he found an old journal that had once belonged to one of the Abbey Recorders past. Blowing the dust of many seasons off the torn cover, he turned to the very first page of what he found was the journal of Abbess Germaine, the very first Abbess of Redwall Abbey. Long-forgotten events of bygone seasons found their way into Lucas' mind as he flipped through the ancient book...

.

Klunk!

"Yurr ee go, mizz Poley, oi'm caught ee vermint," Grubo called up in the rustic molespeech as he shuffled with his basket to get under Sister Polly again. The mouse called down to him from the tree.

"I wish we could get some more help here, Grubo, it's not as easy as it looks."

"Ee be roight, mizz Poley, ee lukk loik ee bushytailed skirrel, hurr hurr!" Sister Polly was about to reach for another apple when she lost her footing on the branch she was perched on and landed right on top of the young Lingen Reguba.

"What's going on here, Sister Polly, pretending you're an apple? You mice sure have a strange way of doing things, don't you?"

"Oh, Lingen, when did you get here? We're trying to pick some apples for the pie Friar Gringle's making for tomorrow. You're a young spry squirrel, perhaps you can lend us a paw. Oh, I wonder where Brother Lucas is with young Leslie," Polly worried as Lingen bolted up the tree with Grubo's basket, which Grubo was not very pleased about.

"Yurr, ee give'n ee barsket back 'ere, zurr Lingah, oi's usen et furst!"

"The way you two were going about it, you would have taken all day and half the apples would have been bruised, me moley matey. There, that should be enough." Lingen lowered the basket down to the scowling mole below with his tail. Leslie the mousemaid walked over to the orchard from the gatehouse just as Grubo nearly tripped over the root of the apple tree, causing Sister Polly to take the apple-filled basket from him before he dropped it.

"Here we go, little Grubo, let's let Leslie take the basket to Friar Gringle, shall we?" she said patronizingly.

"Hurr, oi bain't likkle, mizz Poley, oi'm not been a Dibbun for ee'm 'ole seezun! Et be moi bruvver Dribber who'm be the likkle'n naow."

Leslie, who know in between the lines that Sister Polly was making her take the basket to Friar Gringle because she hadn't helped pick the apples, resignedly took the basket from her. Right as she turned to leave the orchard, a large red object covered in leaves dropped out of the tree right in front of her. Her first thought was a giant apple, but she knew better when its tail reached up and picked an apple, pulling it down to its mouth nonchalantly.

"Lingen Reguba! You nearly gave me another four seasons, scaring me like that!" Lingen merely munched happily on his prize apple, a silly grin across his furry face. Leslie looked over her old squirrelfriend, who had grown in both directions since he left the Abbey. "My my, you have gotten to be a rather, um, healthy-looking squirrel, haven't you?" she said, trying to stifle giggles. Polly rolled her eyes, only to turn and find Grubo had disappeared again. As she threw up her paws and ran after the elusive mole, Lingen tossed aside his empty apple core and indignantly addressed Leslie the mousemaid.

"Now see here, you pompous little mousebabe, I'm fit as a mole fiddle. And furthermore, I can still beat you to the kitchens any day of the season!"

Before Leslie could react, the spry squirrel took the basket right out of her paws and scampered off for the Abbey building. Struggling to catch up, the mousemaid called after him, "That's because you know there's food in the kitchens. I'd bet you've been there more often in your lifetime than the Friar himself, that's how you can get there so fast!"


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

The kitchens were always in a flurry before a coming feast, and the Fall Jubilee Feast of old Abbess Avelle was no exception. Friar Gringle moved around the kitchen hurriedly, opening ovens and pots and pans at will, stopping only to wipe his brow with his favored companion, an old green dockleaf. It was tiring work overseeing all the cooking for the Abbess' fall feast, but Friar Gringle was not one to slow down when there was work to be done.

"You there, young bankvole, whatsyourname, take out that trifle from th' oven and put it out t'cool. That one, no, over there, th' one next to your paw, yes, that's th' one. No, Dribber, get off'n those scones an' save 'em for th' feast tomorrey, there'll be plenty t' eat then, that's a good mole."

"Hurr, Froir, oi's jus' testen ee scons, no need t'be yellin' at ee Dibbun loik that. Taste noice'n'tasty, they do, hurr aye!" Before anybeast had a chance to escort the mole out, he hopped off his stool, grabbing a scone as he did, and made his way to the door. Just as he was about to make his exit, the door came open and Dribber was nearly bowled over by a squirrel and mousemaid who came flying in. Friar Gringle was quick to reprimand the pair of miscreants.

"Now 'old on, you young 'uns, quit your runnin' an' come into my kitchen like civilized beasts! Go on, go back an' try it again." The two returned to the kitchen door, closing it behind them. There followed a soft, timid knock on the door.

"Yes, come in," the Friar called from a pan of meadowcream without looking up. Lingen the squirrel and Leslie the mousemaid slowly walked back into the kitchen, still panting from their race from the orchard. The old hedgehog addressed them cordially. "Good afternoon, Leslie, young Reguba. So nice t'see you again."

Politely but still out of breath, Leslie handed the basket of apples to Friar Gringle, saying, "Sister Polly sent me to give this to you for your pie."

"Yes, Friar Gringle, she told us to bring them right away for fear you might not make your wonderful apple pie for us. She also said with much confidence that she hoped that you would make some of those marvelous scones you're so famous for. Oh, are these your scones here cooling?"

"Oh, yes, those are my scones," the hedgehog blushed modestly. "Would y'like t'try some? I made them 'specially for th' Jubilee." Squirrel and mouse quietly made their way out of the kitchen, holding a scone apiece. Once they had closed the door to the kitchen, however, they both burst out into helpless laughter, clutching at their sides.

"Oh, Lingen, you should be ashamed of yourself, hahaha, you little villain, you're as bad, oh hoohooohaa, as the Dibbuns when it comes, oh dear, teeheehee, to sneaking food from the kitchens," Leslie snorted, holding the wall for support. "'Oh, Mr. Friar sir, Sister Polly was just talking to me about your excellent, delicious scones, oh, are these some of _your_ scones over here? They look so tasty and- oh, you want me to have one? No really, I couldn't dream of it, but if you insist I guess I could have just one,' " she imitated.

"Did you see the look on ol' Gringle's face before we left?" Lingen said with tears nearly coming down his face as he tried to control himself. "He was red from nose to tail, setting about with that dockleaf of his in front of his face so nobeast would see!"

As they went to Great Hall from Cavern Hole, they met Mrs. Cindy Vole, who was walking by on her way to the dormitories. Leslie and Lingen quickly regained their composure and addressed the volewife politely.

"Good day to you, ma'am," Lingen said with a bow and flourish of his bushy tail.

"Oh, hello, Lingen! What a surprise to see you again. It's been nearly a whole season, you rascal, I'll bet you smelled your way here because of all that cooking Friar Gringle's been supervising for the Jubilee Feast."

Leslie, who had to stifle giggles at the mention of the Redwall Friar, straightened up and replied, "Yes, he's quite a fiend when it comes to food, Mrs. Vole. I suppose you'll be looking for that little villain Dribber?"

"Yes, it's not all that hard to tell, I see. You wouldn't happen to have seen him? He seems to have disappeared the minute the Badger Mother Brilla mentioned his bathtime, and I've been enlisted to help look for him."

"As a matter of fact, on our way to the kitchens, we saw him,..." Leslie bit her lip and closed her eyes, as if in deep thought, then looked up at the vole mother and said, "Oh yes, we saw him heading for the dormitories, Mrs. Vole."

"Thank you, Leslie, Lingen. I was rather certain that's where the rascal was going myself."

"Yes, well, you never know what mischief those Dibbuns are getting into. If you'll excuse us?"

"Of course, be about your business you young 'uns, don't mind me. I hope you'll be staying for the feast tomorrow, Lingen?"

"Yes ma'am, as long as I'm welcome, which I'm not sure how long that will be once I get started!"

After the vole mother had left, Lingen, who had stayed virtually silent for the better part of the conversation, finally had to ask what was on his mind. "Leslie, I'm not questioning you, but when you told Mrs. Vole that Dribber had gone to the dormitories,..."

"Well?" Leslie pretended to be puzzled.

The young squirrel scratched the side of his ear with his tail and pondered a bit just as Leslie had done a moment before with Cindy Vole. Then he continued. "But didn't we see him go outside with that scone he got from the kitchens?"

"Yes, we did."

"Then why did you tell her that he went to the dormitories?"

"Tell me, Lingen, would you betray one of those poor Dibbuns to that big bathing Badger Mother? Besides, they'll find him soon enough; he usually finds his brother Grubo and tries to get him into some kind of mischief with him."

As they made their way outside from Great Hall, Lingen asked his companion, "So what's this feast I've been hearing so much about?"

"It's Abbess Avelle's Fall Jubilee Feast. Isn't that what brought you here?"

Suddenly the squirrel's face became serious for the first time since he had come to the Abbey that day. He quickly covered the sudden change of emotion up with a smile and shrugged, saying, "Of course. Have you seen the Abbess?"


	3. Chapter 3

**__**

Chapter 3

The morning sun settled on the shrouded mist of Mossflower Wood, the ground below untouched by the invading shafts of light from above. A lone figure silhouetted by the fog of the morning appeared mysteriously from among the trees of the forest, as though it were a part of the woods itself. Dodging about trees and shrubbery alike swiftly and quietly, the figure made its way expertly through the forest. It stopped at the foot of a large, old oak tree. A moment later, the woods lay just as undisturbed as it had been a moment before; to the untrained eye it would seem that this dark shadowy figure had suddenly vanished into the fog quickly as it had appeared.

Beneath the roots of the oak tree a black fox returned to the old foxes' den that had been dug there a great many seasons ago. Another fox with the same dark coat as the first appeared a moment later from another part of the den.

"Was it as they said, brother?" The vixen's face was creased in anticipation as she expected the answer to her own question.

"It was as we have been told, Shadowfeather. Vermin are packed as thick as the moss in the forest, and all at the Furgins' home, although I feel those hedgehogs would feel anything but hospitable if they saw what the vermin have done to their little dwelling." A note of disgust could be heard in the fox's voice as he relayed to his sister what he had seen. As they spoke in hushed tones they walked to a nearby room in the den, where they were greeted by another fox. She was a little younger than the other two and did not share the dark fur of her companions, having instead a silvery coat that darkened at the tail.

"What did you see, Poisonleaf? Is it true? Are there really vermin in Mossflower again?" The young fox was clearly full of worry and anxiety, as was her youthful nature a lot of the time.

Poisonleaf Wolfbane, the darker fox who had just returned, simply motioned to her, saying, "Come. Are they asleep?"

"All except old Dangur. He couldn't sleep."

"I don't blame him," Wolfbane muttered as he walked to the room where their guests were staying. The two vixens followed quietly in his stead, stopping at the doorway at a nod from the other fox. Once he was alone, Wolfbane looked on at the sleeping household of Dangur Furgin: half a dozen of the hedgehog brood lay about snoring in the security of the old oak den. They would normally have been ill at ease as guests of a den of foxes, but this was the Skulk of the Silvercoats.

Dangur, a full-grown hedgehog, sat watching his family in the dim light of the room. Wolfbane came and sat alongside his friend with his back against the sodden wall. The two carried their conversation in the stillness of the early morning without turning their heads from the sleeping family.

"They're all there, just as you said," the fox began.

Dangur, who normally would have become indignant at anybeast doubting his word, had only one question on his mind.

"Did you see him?"

Wolfbane, who knew that the hedgehog was referring to his youngest son, took pity on his friend. He had not seen Dangur's son, but did not want to say so. "Yes. He's fine and well." The fox was glad he was not facing his friend so he would not have to look directly into his eyes.

"They shall pay dearly if any one of those vermin harm my son," Dangur said, slowly clenching his fists. Wolfbane noted the grim determination in his voice. "I will not rest until my son is safe and those vermin are driven out of Mossflower Woods forever."

"Nor will I, friend, nor will I. Come, your family is rising. Let us see what food Shadowfeather and Fairgrass have prepared for us, and then we shall talk to Ferrence."

Stikle Furgin slowly came to at the vermin camp in eastern Mossflower Wood. Rubbing his head, Stikle recounted the events that had happened nearby the night before. His family had been on their way back home from a day of fishing on the River Moss, when they ran right into the horde of vermin. Both sides taken completely unawares, pandemonium had set out among the horde. Above the mêlée Stikle and his father Dangur had heard an officious voice shouting that the hedgehog family should be captured. They had immediately gathered up their small family, deciding that it was probably time to leave. Arming themselves with fishing poles to be used as quarterstaves, Dangur and Stikle Furgin had then faced the oncoming horde, their backs to their escaping family. They fought bravely to buy time from the horde, but Dangur soon knew that they could not keep it up against the superior vermin numbers. He had quickly motioned to his son and run into the thickness of the forest where he knew no vermin could catch him. Unfortunately, Stikle Furgin refused to give up when his family was in danger. He had fought on, surrounded by a score or more of weasels, ferrets, stoats, and rats. Suddenly he had found himself caught up in a net that had been laid behind him and was laid out by a blow to his spiked head.

At the vermin camp, Stikle felt the bump on the back of his head. He carefully surveyed his situation: he was bound paw and foot, with his arms around a small fir tree. All around him were sleeping vermin despite the coming morning sun. A stoat walked up to the hedgehog prisoner and kicked his footpaw. "What're you lookin' at, spikeback?"

Stikle simply answered by slowly drawing back his foot as he spoke, and kicking out at the stoat at the last word. "Oh, nothing that concerns you-- stoat!" The stoat, enraged by the bold action of the young prisoner, began kicking savagely at Stikle.

The stoat was suddenly bowled over by a large rat, who dealt him a blow with the flat of his sword. "On yer feet, Tangler! The chief says that the prisoner's not t'be 'armed, and the next time I catch yew disobeyin' orders yer a dead stoat!" As Tangler scrambled off to the smoldering campfire, the rat, accompanied by a weasel, turned to the prisoner. He motioned to the weasel, who then untied Stikle's bonds. "C'mon, 'edge'og, follow me, but remember-- a false move's yer last."

"Why? Where are we going?" Stikle couldn't help but wonder.

"Skarliff Krigg wants t'talk to ye."

Skarliff Krigg was the great ferret Warlord of the Northwest. He considered himself as great as the ancient ferret leader Swartt Sixclaw, except Skarliff Krigg had gathered his entire horde by reputation, not by poisoning other horde leaders. He was fearless and cruel, especially among his own horde.

Skarliff was waiting in the Furgins' hedgehog home, which he had declared his headquarters, when a knock sounded on the battered door.

"Somebeast's at the door, Chief," Skarliff's weasel guard said shakily to his master.

"Well, by all means, Drigsno, let's answer it like a good gentlebeast, shall we?"

Drigsno slowly opened the door to the small thatched hut. The rat and other weasel appeared with the hedgehog Stikle Furgin. "Good, good, the prisoner. You have done well, Longtooth. You may leave now, all three of you." Longtooth the rat and his weasel charge, along with Drigsno, exited the hut and closed the door silently.

Stikle looked about him; it was the same hut he and his family had lived in their whole life, except for the dim lighting which Skarliff Krigg preferred when indoors. There was also a foul smell which pervaded the room from some unseen source. Skarliff stopped his eyes wandering any further by suddenly breaking the silence. "Come, sit down," he said simply, beckoning towards a chair. He himself was seating in a large covered seat. Stikle recognized it; it was his father's favorite eating chair.

The young hedgehog seating himself cautiously in the smaller seat, never once taking his eyes off the ferret. "You are ill at ease, friend?" Skarliff asked cordially when his prisoner was seated.

"It is simple for one to be ill at ease when he is the prisoner of vermin," he said, then added coldly, "friend."

The Warlord pretended not to notice the contempt put into Stikle's last word. "Your point carries much weight, my prisoner. No doubt you know why you have been brought here?"

"Not yet. Tell me why."

"I am a ruthless leader, a Warlord from the North. I have captured entire villages, sometimes plundering them and sometimes putting them to the torch." Skarliff Krigg paced the room as he spoke. "For many seasons my horde has found plenty and left nothing in their wake. Yes, we have seen many things, dealt with many brave fools, seen victory at every turn." Skarliff had stopped beside hi prisoner's chair, the ceased pacing and paused oration giving wake to complete silence as he looked over the hedgehog. "And what can you do for me?" He drew so close to Stikle's face that his breath stirred the hedgehog's quills. Stikle tried hard to cover up the chills that went down his back. "What can you do for me? We have traveled far and wide in places such as these, and what can you do for me?" he repeated. "It is simple. Just tell us where we can find a nice large shelter, a place of plenty. In exchange, we give you your freedom." Silence once again prevailed in the small hut, save for the sounds of the rousing horde outside. After a moment had passed, the impatient Warlord asked, "Well? What is your answer?"

The prisoner had not turned his face, spoken, or moved a muscle the entire time Skarliff Krigg had spoken. Now, without a sideways glance, Stikle Furgin the hedgehog had only one word to say.

"No."

Immediately, as if set off by some trigger, Skarliff changed the tone of the conversation, and at the same time ended it. "Longtooth, Knobear! Take this prisoner back to his tree. Farewell for now, my friend. After a whole day with no food, we shall see just how willing you are to defy the will of Skarliff Krigg!"


	4. Chapter 4

**__**

Chapter 4

Lingen Reguba was in conference with Abbess Avelle, Mother Brilla, and Brother Lucas later that morning. Leslie hadn't liked being left out, but she was needed to help Friar Gringle in the kitchens again. What were they talking about? It was obviously something very important. Perhaps they were having guests over for the Jubilee Feast. Yes, that was it. Lingen had invited his woodland friends to the feast and they were coming that afternoon.

Leslie was brought abruptly out of her rêverie by Friar Gringle, who found her standing next to a pile of dirty plates, staring into space. "Leslie! Let's get our 'eads out o' the clouds! Noontide'll soon be 'ere an' th' dishes'll need t'be ready for eatin'." Leslie was so startled she nearly jumped out of her brownish fur and had to stop herself from dropping the plate she was holding.

"What, huh, or er, just cleaning the morning dishes, Griar Fringle-- uh, Friar Gringle sir."

The kindly Friar gave her ear a tweak as he walked by in the direction of the ovens. "Yes, well see th't y'get 'em nice an' clean afore th' meal be served wi'out plates. Hi, Foremole, what's all this?"

The small mole tugged his snout politely as he spoke, carefully avoiding eye contact with the hedgehog Friar. "Hurr, zurr Froir, oi'n ee uther moles be getting' ee gurt bowls fur ee deeper'n'ever poi, hurr aye!"

Friar Gringle sighed and looked skyward. He should have known better than to think that there would be a feast at Redwall without the moles making their famous tater'n'turnip'n'beetroot deeper'n'ever pie. "Oh, very well Foremole, but kindly wait until after th--" But Foremole had already gone.

.

Ferrence Silvercoat was the oldest of the four foxes in his skulk. He was known by all the woodlanders who knew him for his wisdom and foxlike slyness. At the moment his aged mind was working over the current developments in Mossflower.

Outside his favorite room in which he was pondering so intently, Fairgrass Silvercoat, Poisonleaf Wolfbane, and their hedgehog guest Dangur Furgin had just assembled. "Grandfather's been in here since the morn, waiting to speak with you," Fairgrass said to her two companions. She knocked lightly on the door, twice. A somewhat old but strong voice came from within.

"Enter, friends."

Fox and hedgehog entered the dusky room, Fairgrass closing the door behind them so the three could converse in private. Dangur Furgin found himself in what must have been the oldest room in the entire oak den. Half of the walls were covered with odd scrolls and books, with a lamp in the opposite corner. The awestruck hedgehog then reallocated his attention to a fox, slightly older than himself and many seasons past his prime, seated in an oakwood chair opposite the door. His graying fur seemed only to assert the great wisdom one could immediately tell he possessed. Dangur also noted the great respect which the darker fox Wolfbane showed the elder. Ferrence addressed the hedgehog once they were seated in similar oaken chairs.

"Fairgrass has informed me of our problem. It has been many seasons since Mossflower has been tread upon by vermin."

"Aye, yes sir, but if it be anybeast's problem I would say 'tis on'y my problem. Y'see, 'tis my son they have captive at their camp--"

"Shh! Do not interrupt your elders. It is as much our fight as it is yours. Vermin in Mossflower Wood means trouble for all woodlanders alike. So you see, that is why we must help you rescue your son and drive this horde out of Mossflower."

The hedgehog was dumbstruck, only managing to let out, "You'll help me? But how?"

Once again the older fox silenced him with a wave of his paw. "I have the beginnings of an idea. I am glad of two fresh minds to assist me. Perhaps if we put our heads together, we can think of a way to get your son away from there to safety."

.

The inhabitants of Redwall did not have to wait long to find out what Lingen's conference with the Abbey leaders was about. After the noon meal the Abbess stood up and addressed the entire assembly.

"As you all know, our generation has enjoyed peace and prosperity for many seasons now." This opening statement was followed by a few gruff "hear, hear's" from the otter section. Brilla the Badgermum banged the table loudly to restore order.

"Silence! Let the Abbess speak! The next one of you seadogs who interrupts will have me to contend with!" This was followed by a few grunts, but order was restored among the Redwallers.

"Thank you, Brilla," Abbess Avelle haltingly said to the large Badgermum in the stunned silence. "W-well, as I was saying, general peace has reigned in Mossflower for many seasons now... But I fear that all may change very soon." Redwallers voiced their confusion and speculation aloud to one another until Cavern Hole, the smaller dining hall at Redwall, was echoing with voices. Mother Brilla once again had to restore order.

"Silence, everybeast! Please wait until young Lingen has said his peace before you say anything! Silence, I say, _quiet_!" The badger banged the table hard with her paw to emphasize her last word. Once again the hall became silent.

.

Leslie the mousemaid was sitting in between Hinkle, a Dibbun dormouse, and the reprimanded molebabe Dribber, who had been captured by Sister Polly and bathed as originally planned. Leslie had wondered why Lingen had sat next to Brother Lucas and Mother Brilla instead of her and their other friends, but it now seemed somewhat clear. But Leslie could still not help wondering, what was it Lingen had seen that was so important?

.

Mother Brilla, her paws still smarting, then turned the floor over to Lingen Reguba. He stood up and spoke clearly to all gathered there, although at some points scattered whispering was easily heard in the room. "Fellow Redwallers, two sunrises ago I was at the far western fringes of Mossflower Wood with a friend of mine. We heard some sounds, must have been a tree falling, we thought. So I climbed up the nearest tree, cedar I believe it was. Well, when I got up and looked around, I saw a horde of vermin, must've been at least threescore, no, a hundred of them." This statement cause even more disarray among the listeners. Lingen continued, "They were about a day's march east of where we were at, and coming fast. So that's when I decided I'd better come and warn you that vermin were nearby, so I started yesterday morning and got here as fast as I could." Once Lingen had finished, questions from concerned Redwallers filled the air.

"Are you sure they were heading towards Mossflower Wood?"

"Yes. They were marching much too purposeful to not know where they were going."

"Will they try to come here and take the Abbey, d'you suppose?"

"There's no telling whether or not they know we're here, but I suppose it's best to be on the safe side of things."

"What about your friend? Where is he?"

"He lives in the northern part of the woods. It's well out of the way from where they were going."

"What do we do then?"

"Should we go out and have a look?"

"No, maybe we should stay here where it's safe?"

"Cedar tree, y'say?"

As the questions came pelting in, Mother Brilla finally stood up and spread her paws wide. "Now, now, enough questions, let young Lingen speak. What do you suggest we do, Lingen? You saw the vermin, after all."

Lingen thought over the question carefully, realizing the position of authority he had been put in. "I say, we should organize some volunteers to scout out the woods," he said. "That way we can find out where the vermin are located."

"Then it's settled," Brilla said without hesitation. "All willing able-bodied beasts meet outside the gatehouse in two minutes. Then we'll see about some horde of vermin setting foot near our Abbey."

And with that, the meeting was adjourned.


	5. Chapter 5

**__**

Chapter 5

Within the next few minutes the impromptu scouting group had assembled. Skipper of Otters and some of his crew had volunteered themselves, as well as a tall, rough-looking otter called Rufus Rillflag, the Gatekeeper, who fell in with Skipper's holt; with them were a few young adventurous mice and moles, and Lingen Reguba and Leslie, who had been able to go under strong persuasion to Friar Gringle from Brother Lucas and Mother Brilla. The Badger Mother addressed the score of volunteers before they left the Abbey.

"I hope you all realize what the key here is going to be: stealth. In order to be good scouts you must see and not be seen, find and not be found. This is a horde of all sorts of vermin from who knows where, and our purpose at all times is not only to locate this horde, but also to do it without being spotted ourselves. Now, when I give the signal, you will all follow-- hold it, where do you think you're going, young Grubo?"

"Yurr, oi'm wanten t'come too, 'elp catchen ee vermints, hurr aye!" The young mole was armed with a fire poker, trying hard to look mean and menacing. Sister Polly, however, would not hear of it.

"Give me that poker, little Grubo, you're going to poke somebeast's eye out!" she said, carrying the protesting mole off to the Abbey building.

"Burr, oi's usen et t'fight ee vermin, an' oi not be likkle!"

As the scouting party broke into tucks of laughter, Mother Brilla tried hard to keep her composure by authorizing a forward march. "On command, all follow me. Ready, let's go!"

Foremole and his mole crew were at the moment digging a roasting pit. They nearly fell into the pit at the sound of the scouting group calling out as they left the time-honored cry of Redwall Abbey.

"Redwaaaaall!"

Foremole lifted his head out of the roasting pit and tapped a digging claw to his snout. "Hurr, they'm be ee gurt noisy beasts, burr aye!"

It was little more than an hour after noon when Skarliff Krigg retired to his hut after a meager lunch. Drigsno and another weasel had been posted to guard the door to Skarliff's headquarters. The rest of the horde lay about the camp idly after lunch, sleeping lightly lest they be caught dozing by their Warlord.

All of them, that is, except two.

Longtooth the rat captain and his weasel charge Knobear consorted with each other in low voices at the edge of the camp, near the hedgehog prisoner Stikle Furgin they had been ordered to watch. But instead of watching the inert prisoner, who apparently was feeling the same effects from the afternoon sun that most of the horde was feeling, the two comrades were watching only one thing: Skarliff's head captain Durg. Longtooth had disliked the stoat captain since he had been promoted to the lofty position two seasons earlier, and the rat confided his thoughts to the onlybeast in the horde he felt he could trust.

"I tells yer, Knobear, that stoat's been lordin' it over me'n th'orde e'er since 'e got t'be 'ead cap'n. 'E only got that bloody p'sition 'cuz 'e wus all'ays tryin' to impress th' cap'n, yessir, no sir, er, three o' them bags full, sir! I'm sick of it, mate, that's wot I am, sick. If anybeast should be second in charge to ol' Krigg, it should be me! 'Course, yew'd be me right 'and, so ye would, mate."

The weasel nodded his head in agreement. "Aye, if ever there wos a good cap'n, that wos yew, cap'n. Why, yore likely t'be leader of this 'tire horde afore long!"

"Hmm, leader o' th'orde, I likes that. Longtooth th' Warlord, 'as a good ring to it, don't y'think?"

That same afternoon three foxes and a full-grown hedgehog were gathered a stonethrow away from the vermin camp. Whispering quietly, they went over their rescue plan once more.

"I wish we could wait until night t'do this, Wolfbane m'fox, it'd be easier t'stay hidden."

"No, we can't. I heard some of the vermin talking, and I can't even tell you what they've got planned for your Stikle come nightfall. We've got to get him out of that camp now. Now Shadowfeather, Fairgrass, be sure that you have Stikle untied as soon as possible so we can get away quickly and unnoticed. Dangur and I will cover you in case anything goes wrong. Right?"

"Right."

"Dangur, you'll be sure to keep that sling of yours handy if necessary."

"Aye, m'fox. Many a vermin's met their fate from the second-best slinger in Mossflower Wood, my eldest son besidin'. See y'when it's over?"

"I hope so, friend."

Within the next minute or so, their meeting place was empty and undisturbed once more.

Stikle Furgin silently struggled with his bonds at the fir tree; Longtooth and Knobear had finally drifted off slightly, as Knobear's snores indicated. He tried desperately to slip his right paw out of the jumbled mess of knots, but it wouldn't move.

Suddenly Stikle felt a paw stay his movement and heard a voice say, "Shh. Hold still. We are friends." Startled but obedient the hedgehog held still while a knife stolidly cut through his bonds.

Skarliff Krigg was waiting in his headquarters for his head captain Durg. The large ferret was soon rewarded by a knock on the door. "Come in, come in. Enter, my captain." As the door to the hut swung open the head of the stoat captain peeked in pensively.

"Y'wanted t'see me, cap'n?"

"Yes, yes, come in." Skarliff motioned towards a small thatched chair, the same chair Stikle Furgin had set in. Durg silently seated himself, awaiting whatever his Warlord had to say. As usual, he did not have to wait long.

"Durg, my captain, I do not have to question your loyalty to me?"

"You know that I 'ave always served you an' no other, mightiness."

"Good, good. I have heard, however, that several of my horde are plotting a scheme of some sort, either against myself or one of my captains. Don't look puzzled, Durg, whoever it is, they wouldn't tell you; you're my head captain. But Drigsno, although the inside of his head may be somewhat lacking, he does possess two ears to hear-- and a mouth to talk. Now as my right claw, I would like for you to find out by your own methods who is behind this conspiracy and deliver their names to me. Understood?"

"Yes, mightiness. I've ne'er failed you afore an' I don't atten' t'start now."

"I should hope so, Durg, or I would have to go and find myself a new head captain. You are dismissed." The ferret Warlord watched his captain exit the hut, tapping his claws on the side of the chair as his crafty mind worked through his own plans.

Fairgrass had just finished cutting through the ropes tied around Stikle Furgin's paws. Carefully, she and Shadowfeather helped the hedgehog onto his feet. Fairgrass, who had had no experience with hedgehogs before, grabbed him wrong and came up with half a pawful of quills. Before she could stop herself a small cry of pain escaped her mouth.

Immediately, as if set off by some silent trigger, a weasel who had heard the small noise shot up and looked at the small rescue group. "Who're yew?" he asked sleepily. "What're yew doin' wid'--" Now he was wide awake. " 'Ey, they're takin' th'prisoner! Escape! Escaaa--" Wolfbane, who was behind the two rescuers with bow and arrow in paw, turned swiftly and silenced the weasel. But it was too late.

The vermin camp sprang to life. Fourscore or more of assorted vermin, rats, weasels, stoats, and ferrets of all kinds roused themselves quickly and reached for their weapons, while amid it all a stoat slightly larger than the rest, Durg, shouted, "Get 'em! Stir yer paws, there's only five o' them! Kill the intruders, but keep th'prisoner alive, Skarliff Krigg ain't done wid'em yet!"

Danger Furgin and Wolfbane placed themselves in between the coming hordebeasts and Shadowfeather and Fairgrass, who were still helping Stikle get up and rub some life into his sore limbs. Soon, however, the vermin were too close and the two fighters, as well as the vixen Shadowfeather, could no longer hold them off and had to fight. Dangur was slinging his largest stones furiously at the oncoming vermin, who were unable to get near the large hedgehog. Wolfbane had left off his bow to fighting hand-to-hand with a broken spear. As his eyes began to glow savagely with the light of battle, the fox yelled out, "Fairgrass! Get the young 'un out of here! Quickly!" The young Silvercoat was not about to argue with her elder, as at the moment he did not look like he would tolerate any disobedience. Quick being the word, Fairgrass left the camp with Stikle in her tow, leaving behind two full-grown foxes and a double-slinged hedgehog fighting a horde of vermin tooth and claw to allow them to escape.

The Redwall scouting party had been marching and scouting for over an hour. Brilla was in the lead, followed by Skipper of Otters, Lingen Reguba, and Leslie the mousemaid. Behind them was about a dozen of Skipper's otter crew, with a rear guard of the stragglers, the brave young mice and moles of Redwall. The latter of the group, less tenacious and beginning to weary, had begun talking about the feast that awaited them upon their return to Redwall, which did not help their situation in the least. Benno, Friar Gringle's young assistant who had evaded helping with feast preparations by volunteering himself for the scouting party, was in particular wondering about the feast's progressing.

"The cooking for the jubilee feast must be almost done by now, wouldn't y'say?"

"Mmm, they've probably got those tasty pasties out on th'ledge to cool, ready for th'takin', eh Siltburr?"

The young mole nodded his velvety head in agreement. "Ho aye, th'Froir'd give us'ns wot 'o with 'is rollin' pin, but et'n be's wurth et. Oi durrly do luvvs ee parsties!"

Mother Brilla, trying to cap the laughter which threatened to leave her lips, muttered to Skipper out of the side of her mouth. "Listen to those little Dibbuns will you, they've not been out here for more than an hour, and they're already talkin' about food like they had survived a ten-season famine. And pasty pinching too, the thieving rascals!"

At the back of the otter crew a burly otter who went by the name of Fallam turned on the reminiscing young Abbeydwellers. "Listen up mateys, if'n any o' youse mentions food once more when there's none t'be 'ad, _I'll_ give yer 'wot 'o' meself, an' not wid' no rollin' pin, see?" Immediately they fell silent.

Suddenly the large Badger Mother in front halted the troupe with a wave of her paw. Something was up. "Shh! Listen! Do you hear something?"

After a few seconds passed Skipper was able to make something out. "Aye, I hears it, somebeasts comin' this way, mebbe two o' them I'd say."

The otter leader's guess proved correct. A hedgehog emerged from the woods in front of them, with a fox in his wake. At the sight of the fox, paws strayed to blades and weapons were drawn. But Leslie saw something different in her eyes and somehow felt a kind of kinship with the vixen, who was roughly her age. The young mouse immediately set herself between her friends and the strangers.

"Put away your weapons, all of you, can't you see that they're alone and don't mean any harm? What is your name, young one?"

"Fairgrass, of the Skulk of the Silvercoats, and he is called Stikle Furgin." The young vixen, Leslie noticed, was close to tears and about to break down.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"They're back there, three of them, just three-- oh, they're going to get killed, I know it! They told us to leave, and now they're--" The vixen broke down sobbing.

As Leslie tried to console the fox Lingen asked the hedgehog with her, "What's she saying? What's going on?"

Stikle's lip trembled slightly but he tried to stay brave as he filled them all in. "My father, Dangur Furgin, an' two foxes I've ne'er met rescued me from a horde o' vermin nor'east o' here, but we were caught and they're fightin' the 'tire horde-- just three o' them-- to buy time for us t'scape..."

Mother Brilla had heard enough. "Hear that, troupe, somebeast's in trouble," the badger's voice rang out over the group of volunteers. "Nobeast can take on a horde of vermin by themselves, they need out help. Leslie, you stay here and see to these two. The rest of you, follow me, double march! For Redwall!"

"For Redwaaaall!"

The fighting at the camp had gotten very fierce. What should have been a massacre was, although undoubtedly one-sided, far from it. Wolfbane was wounded twice on the shoulder but fought on wildly, stabbing out with his spear and slashing dangerously with a cutlass he had taken from one of the vermin. His sister Shadowfeather was none the worse from the inevitable of battle, having taken a javelin in the leg and now fighting with the very same weapon. Dangur Furgin the hedgehog slinger thwacked out for keeps at the vermin, oblivious to the several wounds about him.

Wolfbane had just taken a jab in the ear and speared the rat that had done it when a short ferret not two feet away raised his spear at the fox, grinning evilly before he drew it back to throw it. Suddenly a fair-sized red squirrel, not any older than the dark battle-crazed fox, dropped out of the trees above like a bolt of red lightning. The squirrel, who was dressed in a dark green vest and a dagger belt, set upon the ferret equally viciously, slaying him with a thrust of one dagger while in the same movement stabbing backwards with his other dagger at a rat who was behind him. Wolfbane recognized him immediately. "Temmlock! Temmlock Trapella, where did you come from?"

The squirrel commented to Wolfbane dryly as he kicked two weasels in the face and stabbed another with his dagger. "The tree up yon. Di'n't y'see me?"

"Well you certainly picked a good time to show up," the fox conversed with his friend as they fought side by side.

"I'll say I did. Nice day t'die, eh?"

"Ah, well, I don't know about that; I don't think I had that on my agenda for t'day."

"Well y'could try telling it t'these blaggards, although I don't know th't they're 'telligent enough t'unnerstand. Ah! Gotcha, y'mangy flapplesnout! I say, he nearly had me there!"


	6. Chapter 6

**__**

Chapter 6

Skarliff Krigg watched the battle from behind the ranks of his horde, shouting commands and ordering that the intruders be taken dead or alive. Durg, as the Warlord's head captain, was urging the hordebeasts ahead with the flat of his sword. "Wotsamattah, yew lilylivered treescrapin's, afeared o' a few peace-lovin' woodlanders? Git in there an' fight, afore I really give y'some'n t'be afeared of, they can't 'old out much longer!" Berated and belayed by the stoat captain's sword, the horde drove forward towards the valiant four for a final assault.

"Haharr, we got 'em, mate!" Skarliff's captain commented to the Warlord with an evil grin.

Suddenly, to the astonishment of Warlord and captain alike, the horde was repulsed backwards. Skarliff Krigg had to take a step back to avoid the retreated vermin. Grabbing a nearby rat, the ferret leader snarled in his face, "What is it? What are you treescum running from? My horde never runs from a pawful of woodlanders. Well? Speak!"

The quivelling rat spoke quickly to his Warlord, doubly scared of both threats he was facing. "We almost 'ad 'em, y-your mightiness, we was 'bout t'finish 'em off, see, an' then we was attacked, jus' like that! We was set upon by an 'ole score o' otters, an' a giant badger, an' a bunch o' other animals, all fightin' like Badger Lords!"

"What? How can you not take care of just a few woodlanders?" The unfortunate rat received a sharp clout between the ears from the enraged ferret, laying him senseless. But then the Warlord paused and thought about his situation, scratching his scarred ear contemplatively. So the scales were tipping in the woodlanders' direction? It should only prove to be in his favor; after all, he still had his own plans, which as of yet had not been disclosed. In due time he would get what he wanted-- they all would see soon enough!

The Redwallers had arrived at the scene in the knick of time. The onslaught of the fearless otter crew had driven the horde back for a moment. Dazed and bewildered, the horde lulled its attack for a split second. "Harr, mateys, looks like we got 'ere just in time fer the real fun, eh?" Skipper said to the four fighters as the horde resumed its attack all the harder. Brilla had vermin all around her, swiping and clubbing at them ferociously with a huge tree limb, as the large hedgehog Dangur Furgin stoically fought his way toward her. The vermin also found that the otter crew, joined now by the vixen Shadowfeather, was not to be messed with, fighting as though they had been waiting for a good fight for several seasons. Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Temmlock Trapella, and Skipper of Otters were back to back, slashing and jabbing out at anybeast fool enough to get near them.

Within just a few minutes of the Redwallers' sudden arrival a retreat was called from the leader of the horde. Panting from the short combat, the woodlanders and Redwallers watched the horde take a hasty retreat, fleeing westward from the woods. The last to leave was a large ferret, obviously their leader, who stood on a treestump and addressed the twenty-odd fighters from Mossflower Wood and Redwall Abbey as the last of his troops were leaving. "This isn't over, fools, I will come back, and when I do your heads will hang from the very trees of this forest!"

Wolfbane stepped forward from the rest of the group, issuing his challenge. "It'll take a lot more'n what you got there, aye, just a bunch of cowards in the likes of real warriors!"

"What's your name, fox?" the ferret snarled at his dark-furred foe.

"I am called Wolfbane, if it is any of your concern."

"I will live to see the day you die, fox. That is my word; Skarliff Krigg has spoken!"

The answer came back without hesitation. "That is where you are wrong, ferret. Dark Forest awaits the day you return!" Wolfbane, in one quick movement, hurled his spear towards his enemy, taking out a nearby weasel and wounding the shoulder of the Warlord Skarliff Krigg as a farewell gift. "And so do I!"

With the horde of Skarliff Krigg gone, the Redwall scouting party and the foxes and hedgehogs of Mossflower Wood quickly saw to their wounded so they could leave the area as soon as possible, in light of a possible retaliation from the left vermin. Wolfbane, leaning on his cutlass, called out to the leader of the otters. "What are our losses, friend?"

"Not a one, I'm serprised, although there are some purty ugly lookin' wounds. What'd yew say yer name was, foxmate?"

"Wolfbane. Poisonleaf Wolfbane of the Skulk of the Silvercoats. And yours?"

"I'm the Skipper o' the Redwall otters."

"Oh, so you lot are from Redwall Abbey? I'd like t'thank you for saving our fur there. We'd have been done for if you hadn't shown up."

"Aye, we're 'specially beholden to ye for that. Twould've broken me heart to have t'tell m'family th't the old 'og wasn't comin' back." At the sound of this voice, which belonged to Stikle Furgin, Wolfbane turned his head, ignoring his several wounds, to look at first the young hedgehog and then the vixen next to him. Fairgrass felt his pale penetrating eyes burning through her and her neck began to feel warm.

Not even breaking his fixed stare on the young Silvercoat, Wolfbane nearly emotionlessly said, "I thought I told you to get the young 'un away from here." Fairgrass's neck felt very hot; what could she say? She had taken Stikle away from the battle just as she was told, but there was no way she nor Leslie could stop him from following the Redwallers and rejoining the battle, where he had been virtually unnoticeable until now.

After a moment's silence Stikle Furgin decided to speak on the vixen' behalf. "It was all my fault, really," he began, "she took me away from the fightin' jus' like y'told her, but I came back on my own."

"Aye, I guess there's a bit o' truth in sayin' y'can't keep a Furgin away from a good scrap," Stikle's father Dangur put in quickly, but Wolfbane still remained silent.

Finally it was the ever-jubilant Gatekeeper Rufus who saved the awkward situation. "Well, we're all in one piece, might as well put a bit o' ground between us an' that 'orde, eh? I say there, 'Leaf mate, is that an ugly gash on yer ear I see, or were they tryin' to pierce 'em fer yeh?" he joked with a nervous laugh.

Wolfbane noticed his wound for the first time since it had happened, turning his head from young Fairgrass to the Redwall Gatekeeper. "Aye, that I guess. I hadn't noticed it," he said absently, touching the wounded ear with his paw.

"Hadn't noticed it, mate, why if'n that there scratch were any worse yer fur'd be a shade darker!"

Fairgrass was at the moment wrapping up the spear wound on Shadowfeather's leg; the older vixen had stayed virtually silent during both the treatment of her leg and the conversation that had gone on with Wolfbane. "Fairgrass, you're the healer, you'd better have a look at that ear when you're done here," she said, turning to the younger vixen.

"No thank you, I'm fine just the same," said Wolfbane as he turned his back on the other two foxes.

"Now hold on, Poisonleaf Wolfbane, so she disobeyed you, let the young hedgehog come back and fight like he had when he was caught in the first place." Shadowfeather stood up on her wounded leg, causing Fairgrass to continue working in midair; she knew better than to get in the middle of any time those two foxes began arguing. "So it was she who gave us away, can you hold it against her?"

"Aye, we hedgehogs have been known for our quills, quite sharp they are," Stikle said with a chuckle, but he fell silent at a warning glance from his father.

"I told you before, sister, I don't need anything. My ear is fine."

"Fine my wounded leg! Nobeast is too much a warrior to have their own wounds taken care of, or else they wouldn't live to see another day, let alone another battle. Fairgrass, that bandage feels tight'n'snug enough, now see to my brother's ear." Fairgrass got up and walked over to bandage Wolfbane's ear, shrugging to Leslie the mousemaid as she passed her new friend. Leslie found herself feeling sorry for the vixen, living with two warriorfoxes in the same home.

"Well, are we just going to sit here arguin' all day, or are you going to come with us and enjoy the hospitality of a real Redwall feast?" Mother Brilla had just returned with the younger Redwallers on a short foraging party for healing herbs by request of Fairgrass.

"Feast, what feast?" Stikle Furgin couldn't keep from asking.

"Abbess Avelle's Fall Jubilee Feast. You will be coming, won't you?" Nobeast knew what to say at Leslie's question.

"I s'pose it's all up to ol' Wolfbane, he's been cap'n o' this ship up t'now. 'Tis all up t'him," said the older hedgehog Dangur. All eyes were on the dark foxwarrior, whose ear Fairgrass had just finished bandaging.

"C'mon, Bane, you're all welcome. There's always an empty seat at Redwall Abbey." After working the proposition over a few times in his mind, Poisonleaf Wolfbane smiled for the first time since the battle.

"I don't know about you, Temm, but I feel as if I might could eat enough t'keep those Abbeycooks busy for two days. Anybeast care to join me?"

This was met by a loud cheer from the entire group there.

A feast!

****

~

As afternoon shadows began to lengthen at Redwall Abbey, activity was at a crescendo in the kitchens, where final preparations for the feast were being made. The Redwall scouting party had arrived back earlier with vague news of a skirmish which had occurred with the horde, but none else except to expect some guests to be arriving for the feast. His young assistant Benno unable to help because he was being bandaged up in the Infirmary, Friar Gringle's troubles were doublefold. Kitchen helpers were rushing about all over the place, putting finishing touches to puddings, covering all different kinds of flans with cloths, preparing salads, and pulling pies out of the ovens. When Leslie entered the kitchens Gringle was quite the nervous wreck. "What is it, Friar Gringle, what's wrong?"

Fanning himself with his dockleaf the plump Friar replied, "It's those moles. They're goin' t'make my 'tire kitchen a mess. Look at 'em!"

Foremole's mole crew, joined by Siltburr and the other young moles from the scouting party, had begun work on their tater'n'turnip'n'beetroot deeper'n'ever pie after finishing the roasting pit for Friar Gringle. Half of the moles were covered in flour, while the other half were sifting through the ingredients around them. The hedgehog Friar hurried over to the messy group, asking the Foremole, "Really, Foremole, should y'be done soon? You're makin' a right mess o' me kitchens, y'are."

The mole leader smiled almost patronizingly at the Friar. "Yurr, Froir, daon't ee worry ee liddle spoiky 'ead o'er nerthtin'. We'm be 'bowt ready t'put ee taters'n'turnips in ee poi, soon as ee crust be ready. Be ee crust farnished, Siltburr?"

The young mole crinkled his flour-crusted nose into a grin, clapping his two digging claws together and sending up a small cloud of flour. "Hurr, ee poi's rardy for'n taters'n'turnips zurr, ho aye. Where'm be ee beetroots, tho'?"

"Don't know 'bout no beetroots, mateys, but 'ave any o' you seen a bag o' 'otroot 'ereabouts?" Skipper of Otters appeared the otter Fallam. "We was 'bout t'make a batch o' watershrimp an' 'otroot soup, 'ceptin' we can't find where we put th' 'otroots."

At that moment Cindy Vole came bustling up to Friar Gringle with a worried look on her face. "Friar, I regret to inform you that under the current circumstances, we cannot make the arrowroot sauce which you requested. I'm afraid the arrowroot that we had prepared has gone amiss."

Unbeknownst to anybeast in the kitchens, three tiny voices let out a gleeful giggle. Or so they thought they were. Leslie the mousemaid, who had heard the small noise, winked slyly at those standing near her, saying, "That's not the only thing here that's gone amiss." Carefully and silently a small crowd of moles, otters, a vole, and a hedgehog crept over, following the young mousemaid, to an old cupboard. Small voices, although somewhat quiet in the small cupboard, could be easily heard.

"Wot be's d'goin' on naow? Et be's too quiet."

"I don't know. Dey's talkin', then alla sudden dey 'top talkin'."

"Well, maybe's they lefted?"

"Prob'ly. Whurr be's dat arraroot?"

"Uh, oh. I don't sees dem now. Dey gonded. Wait, here's day come--!"

Leslie opened up the two cupboard doors to reveal the Dibbuns Dribber, Hinkle, and Tera Vole, all also covered in flour, with bits of beetroot, hotroot, and arrowroot piled in between them. "Why, you thievin' liddle rogues, so that's where all those 'ngredients went off ta'!"

The molebabe Dribber, covering his work with one paw, scowled down at the Friar. "Shh. Go 'way. We'm be makin' ee gurt rooty poi."

"Oho, rooty pie, is it mate? Well let me take a looksee 'ere," Skipper said as he poked his head into the cupboard opening. "I say there, matey, that's quite a bit o' 'otroot y'got there! Y'll burn th'mouths off anybeast wants ter eat this pie."

"So wot you'm say oi should do?"

" 'Ow 'bout yew and yer mates givin' me some o' that 'otroot there, eh? Y'see, I need some o' it meself, we was goin' t'make a nice bowl o' watershrimp an' 'otroot soup. D'yew like 'otroot soup?"

Dribber sighed as if the answer was obvious. "Uccourse oi loiks ee 'otroot zoop, that'n be's whoi we'm be usen et innee poi, zurr!"

Just then Grubo and some other animals came by on their way to help the cellarhog Gardil carry some casks up to the kitchens from the cellar. Grubo stopped at the group gathered around the cupboard, seeing his younger brother sitting up in it among the messy pie ingredients. Raising a digging claw up at Dribber, and overlooking completely the messy mole crew, Grubo said, "Burr, do ee cumm daown naow an' get cleaned oop, afore ee Bardgermum sees ee!"

When Grubo and the other cellarhelpers had left, there was a temporary silence as the other moles looked themselves over, a mess of floury dough and other ingredients. In less than a moment the entire group was laughing and snorting, holding their sides or a counter to keep their balance. Leslie imitated the quaint molespeech as best she could, giving a mock lecture to the mole crew and shaking her paw at them.

"Ee 'urry naow an' finish ee poi, then get ee all cleaned oop, afore ee gurt Badger Muther cumms an' gives ee all a barth!"

Foremole hugged his sides, his small nose bobbing up and down. "Hurr hurr, do ee stop et, moi soides be a-hurtin'!"

Temmlock Trapella and Lingen Reguba were sitting on the steps of Rufus's gatehouse with Brother Lucas, relating to the Abbey Recorder what had happened that afternoon. The two red squirrels sat on either side of the middle-aged mouse, who wrote on a parchment as they spoke.

Temmlock had been like a father to young Lingen when the orphaned squirrel was brought to the Abbey; Temmlock himself had been orphaned as a young squirrel. Two seasons ago Temmlock had gone to roving, and Lingen decided to settle himself in the woodlands at the beginning of the following summer. Now Temmlock's wandering had brought him back to Redwall Abbey once again.

They were almost finished with their story when a call rang out from the main western ramparts. "Somebeasts on the path!" Redwallers rushed to the west wall from all directions, some crowding around the main gate and others going up the wallsteps to the ramparts to look down at the path. Winking at his two companions, Temmlock made his way down the wallsteps to the courtyard.

"Halt there, stand fast mateys, be ye friend er foebeast?" Rufus called down from the ramparts to the approaching hedgehogs with a straight face.

"We're naught but harmless woodlanders, might'n we be able t'come in from this autumn weather?" the eldest hedgehog in the lead called back.

"Occourse, mate, this 'ere Abbey's always open t'gennelbeasts like y'self. Be that all o' ye?"

"Aye, 'ceptin' our friends with us here." As the hedgehog spoke four foxes, two with full black coats and two with dark silver fur, emerged from the woods on the northern part of the path. Redwallers on the battlements and at the gates gasped as one. Before anybeast could close the Abbey gates the squirrel Temmlock shot out through the gateway, much to the surprise of everybeast that had not left the Abbey that afternoon, and began to wrestle with the largest of the foxes.

"Bane, you ol' fox, I see it didn't take you long t'get to the feasting!"

"Ha, take a look at yourself, Temm, I'd be surprised if there was any food left at Redwall when you're done tucking in!"

Up on the battlements, Brother Lucas turned to the young squirrel Lingen. "If those woodlanders are as hungry as I think they are, he may be right!"

As the woodlanders entered the Abbey gates introductions were being made between the guests and Redwallers. "Abbess Avelle, I would like you to meet Poisonleaf Wolfbane, the darkest coat and the fiercest warrior in Mossflower Wood."

"Aye, an' I'd like for you t'meet the biggest bragger and best liar in the whole o' Mossflower, but he's the one doing the introducing!"

"That's ol' Bane for you, always kiddin'! I say there, you're quite the strong strappin' hedgehog, what's your name again?"

"M'name's Dangur Furgin, second-best slinger in this part o' the woods. This here's m'wife Nelliequill, daintiest set o' spikes y'ever did see."

"How d'ya do? Bobbelo Temmlock Trapella, Jr., at y'service ma'am! I say, how did you ever come across such a catch, you ol' spikehog?"

Meanwhile, the Abbess was meeting the Skulk of the Silvercoats for the first time. "Meet my sister Shadowfeather, Abbess Avelle. And these two Silvercoats are Ferrence and his granddaughter Fairgrass."

"I'm pleased to meet you, all of you, and welcome to our Abbey."

The Dibbuns Dribber and Tera Vole had noticed that one of the hedgehogs from the large family was about their age, and decided to make friends with her. "Burr, wot be's you name?"

"M'name be's Ragga Furgin. Wot be'm you two?"

"I'm Tera, an' he's Dribbah."

"C'mon, Raggy, let's go foind Hinkle an' see if'n th'Froir be'd done wid' moi poi!" The three Dibbuns trundled off in search of mischief, leaving the grown-ups chatting away in the courtyard.


	7. Chapter 7

**__**

Chapter 7

Like all Redwall feasts, Abbess Avelle's Fall Jubilee Feast was a big success. Great Hall's three tables were packed to capacity with foods of all kinds: breads, salads, puddings, pies, flans, pasties, and scones, to name a few. Redwallers of all shapes and sizes, mice, moles, hedgehogs, dormice, voles, otters, and squirrels, were seated along the hall in no particular order, and as was the Redwall custom, the order of courses was set in a like manner.

The foxes of the Silvercoat skulk were seated near the end of the table where the Abbess sat, where Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Mother Brilla, and Skipper of Otters towered above the other Redwallers. Leslie and Lingen Reguba had befriended the young hedgehog Stikle Furgin, and they were seeing that he would miss nothing in the way of all the different Redwall foods.

"Here, Stikle, have some of this strawberry flan, it's delicious. Go ahead, take it all."

"Try some of this hotroot soup, ol' Furgin, it'll put a point to your spikes. Eh, Jarsum?"

The otter in question turned to the young squirrel next to him with his head half lifted from a bowl of watershrimp and hotroot soup, just long enough to say, "Aye, that it'll do, mate. A bristle to yer fur and curl yer whiskers. That is, if y'ave whiskers." He winked at the trio before diving back into his soupbowl, slurping noisily.

Several casks and barrels had been contributed to the feast by the cellarhog Gardil-- different brews and drinks that ranged from elderberry cordial to the ever-famous strawberry fizz, which had been invented by one of the early cellarhogs of Redwall. Her cousin, Friar Gringle, had also outdone himself, as many Redwallers had complimented him during the course of the feast. They both sat proudly at the middle of the main table, listening to the other Redwallers praising their work amongst each other, and also exchanging knowledge and experimenting for whenever the next feast might be.

"Hmm, this's delicious. Drink some o' this with that pudding you've made."

"Ah, interesting 'tis, my dear cousin. What d'ye call it?"

"Autumn orchard. Y'think it fits?"

"Aye, that it does. 'Treminds me of Autumn. An' wot better time t'ave it than now?"

Benno the Friar's assistant was the hero of the hour. His head had been bandaged liberally as a battle wound, by Sister Sara the Infirmary Keeper. The cause of the injury, although Benno himself did not remember what had happened, was only known by one creature there. During the battle, Benno, Siltburr, and the other young Redwallers who had come had been purposely placed behind the otter crew where none of the horde dared to venture. Benno, however, had still wanted to get in on the action, arming himself with a large club he had found on a fallen hordebeast. It was then that the hedgehog Stikle Furgin had arrived at the battlescene far ahead of Leslie and Fairgrass his pursuers. Mistaking him for a foebeast at first glance, Benno had swung out at him with his club, missing narrowly because Stikle had ducked in time, and was knocked out like a light amid stars and fireworks from the backswing of his own club.

The wounded young warriorcook Benno sat in a large chair at the table, constantly attended to by admiring Redwallers. At the other end of the table Stikle sat with his new friends Leslie and Lingen. Looking over at the young would-be hero, the hedgehog couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He was happy; why tell him?

The Dibbun mole Dribber was quite proud of himself; his "rooty pie", in his opinion had turned out better than he expected. His only problem was getting somebeast to eat it.

"Yurr, mizz Poley, eat'n et all oop. Et be's ee gurt rooty poi, et'n's gudd for ee!"

"Oh, no thank you, Dribber, I've had quite enough already. Why don't you give it to Brother Lucas?"

"Mmmfshmm-- uh-- _me_? I-- I mean, I've also had enough for now."

"But zurr, you'm be eaten ee pudden roight naow!"

"Um, th-- that's my final course, you see. I know, why don't you give it to one of those foxes over there? They look like they could _really_ tuck into it with a will."

The little mole trundled over to the far end of the table, carefully bearing the pan that held his prized pie. He stopped at the closest fox to him, Ferrence Silvercoat. The old fox turned to the Dibbun, who was holding a pie pan up to him.

"Well well, young 'un, what is it we have here?"

"Burr, you'm wanten t'eat moi poi? Oi made et moiself."

Ferrence picked up the pie from the expectant mole, but upon smelling it quickly changed his mind. "Here, I have an idea. I'm just an old woodlander, I could never finish a pie this size. Now over here's a warrior who could handle such a pie." He shoved the piepan across to Poisonleaf Wolfbane. "There y'are, my son, a warrior's food for a warriorfox, eh?"

"Who, me? I'm fair-to-middlin' I'd say, but over here's the _real_ trencherbeast," Wolfbane said as he slid the pan over one place to Temmlock the squirrel.

Much to his surprise, Temmlock took the challenge. "All right," he said, grabbing a fork, "if neither of you can handle it." He dug his fork into the pie, unearthing a sizable slice and shoving it into his mouth. All eyes were upon the red-furred squirrel as he chewed the pie slice slowly, the least of which not being by far Dribber's. He swallowed. "I say, not bad, not bad at all," he said. After shoveling another forkful, Temmlock commented through the mouthful of different kinds of roots, "Hmm, a bit tart here an' there, somewhat spicy-- hotroot's my guess. My compliments to the chef." A cheer rose up from all the beasts at the table for the little Dibbun, who had gone under the table and across to where Temmlock sat as the squirrel was trying the unusual pie. "Jolly good, young chap, what's in it?" Temmlock asked as the mole climbed into his lap.

"Hurr, oi usen'd ee arraroot'n'beetroot'n'otroot, zurr. Oi calls et ee rooty poi!"

Foremole and his mole crew were at that time enjoying the last of their tater'n'turnip'n'beetroot deeper'n'ever pie, when the beasts at the other end of the hall began cheering for the molebabe Dribber. Foremole gave a glance in their direction before helping himself to a healthy portion of the deeper'n'ever pie, commenting to another mole, "Hurr, oi tol' ee they'm gurt noisy beasts!"

When the feasting had slown somewhat to a lull, Mother Brilla made her way to where Lingen Reguba sat and tapped him on the shoulder, indicating that he should follow her. After excusing himself from his two friends, Lingen followed the Badger Mother down the hall. She stopped at the very end of the hall, where Abbess Avelle sat. The old white mouse drew the young squirrel over to her ear and said in an audible tone a little louder than a whisper, "I have heard bits of what had occurred this afternoon, but I also understand that you can add to what the woodlanders have told me. Would you be so kind as to tell me what you saw?" As Lingen stooped over and talked with the Abbess, Mother Brilla left, patting the squirrel on the back before she retook her seat at the long table.

As the sun began to set on Redwall and the feasting was virtually finished, except with Temmlock, Dangur, and the otter crew, it was time for the entertainment to begin, as Skipper announced. "S'Margy gonna' sing fer us?"

This sudden request was met with cheers from many of the Redwallers who knew the female otter. With feigned reluctance, she stood up, and after shooting a murderous glance at the otter chief, launched into song."

Oh, I 'ad a boat wot wouldn't float  
Now wot was I to do,  
Wid' a leaky bottom  
An' a broken rudder, too?  
So I picked it up an' carried it  
An' took it to a shrew,  
An' I said, 'Dear sir, me boat won't work,  
Now wot can ye do?'  
So, shiver me sail an' the mainmast too,  
If yew 'ad a broken ship, tell me wot would ye do?

Then I came back in a week or so,  
The boat the shrew repaired,  
An' I 'cided to go sailin'  
On the sea so fair.  
So I 'ired me a crew  
O' the most villainous corsairs,  
An' we set out on an ocean cruise  
To 'oo knows where.  
Oh, pull out me rudder an' call me an 'are,  
If yer crew were full o' pirates, now 'ow would ye fare?

So we set out on the voyage  
An' the first thing I did know,  
All those villains they did  
Turn on me an' mut'ny, so  
I jus' grabbed those vermin by the neck  
An' o'erboard they did go,  
An' I 'it a rock wot gave me ship  
A great big 'ole.  
So, splinter me deck an' away we go,  
When ye waste yer time wid' vermin, yew will need a new boat!"

Amid cheers and applause following her song, Margy promptly took her seat despite calls for an encore. Instead she suggested casually, "Perhaps Skip would like to sing us a song."

This also was met with general cheers, but Skipper remained in his seat, pretending not to notice. "C'mon, ol' waterdog, sing us a nice sea ballad or some'n!" Temmlock jibed jokingly as he shoved the burly otter forward.

"Oh, there onceee were a feeelleeeeer,  
Wot li-hiiiiived, er, by th' seee-heeeeaa,  
An' 'e set out onnnn 'is ooownnn,  
Er, tooo, er ahem, tooo- um, toooo seeee whaaaaaaa--"

"Er, thank you, Skipper, for that lively bit of entertainment," Mother Brilla interrupted as she quickly guided Skipper back to his seat and everybeast uncovered their ears.

Back at Leslie's end of the table where Lingen had retaken his seat, Lingen mumbled to his friend, "Now I know why they never asked him to sing before."

"Rather!" she replied.

"Anybeast else? Perhaps our woodland guests would oblige us with a song?" This suggestion brought much protest from the group of woodlanders seated at the table.

"No, I'm not s'sure you'll want t'hear _me_ sing. I sound jus' like a frog in mud, I do!"

"True, jus' like a frog stuck in th' mud, and I'm not much better. I thought we jus' came here t'eat, not t'sing!"

"Well, how about my Fairgrass here? She could sing us up a storm." Fairgrass tried to make herself invisible at the words of her grandfather Ferrence. Shadowfeather and Wolfbane, however, chimed in their agreement.

"Fairgrass can sing us a song, won't you? We're but only foxwarriors, that's all we're good for."

"Aye, Fairgrass's th' singer here, not us. How about it, eh?"

Despite much persuading and coaxing, they could not get the shy Silvercoat to sing in front of a hall full of Redwallers. Finally it was suggested that Leslie the mousemaid should recited one of the poems that Brother Lucas had taught her.

Throwing a slight grin in Brother Lucas's direction, the Redwall mouse stood and recited a poem which she was very familiar with:

"Who says that I am dead  
Know naught at all.  
I-- am that is,  
Two mice within Redwall.  
The Warrior sleeps  
'Twixt Hall and Cavern Hole.  
I-- am that is,  
Take on my mighty role.  
Look for the sword  
In moonlight streaming forth,  
At night, when day's first hour  
Reflects the North.  
From o'er the threshold  
Seek and you will see;  
I-- am that is,  
My sword will wield for me."

After a slight stunned silence, there was a hearty applause for the young mouse, who then also took her seat, avoiding Brother Lucas's strange glance.

There was not much time to think about this, as the next moment a few moles had brought out their mole fiddles and other instruments and were playing a fast-paced reel while a group of hedgehogs, including the cousins Gardil Cellarhog and Friar Gringle, were on the floor performing a jig. Everybeast else, even the woodlanders, clapped to the beat and even stamped their feet. Even before the end of the last note applause rang out in the hall for the jovial moles and panting hedgehogs. When the applause died down, a voice echoed off the walls.

"Ah, not much I'll grant ye, but good for a beginner."

Friar Gringle, who was the champion jigger at Redwall despite his plump size, had already recovered his breath before the other hogjiggers. "And 'oo is it wot thinks 'e c'n outdance th' best jigger in the 'ole o' Mossflower, eh?" he called back.

Before he had finished talking, a stout hedgehog, Dangur Furgin, strode up to the center of the hall and stamped his footpaw in a challenging manner.

"Go on, Dangur-me-hog, teach 'im how to _really_ jig!"

"Aye, Father, show him what a Furgin is made of!"

After Dangur his waved his paw to silence his woodland friends, Friar Gringle turned to the husky hedgehog. " 'Tis you 'oo wishes t'challenge th' champion jigger o' Redwall?"

Dangur returned the glance, answering in almost an unconcerned tone. "Aye, so 'tis."

"A challenge! A challenge!" came the cheer from all the Redwallers gathered. Their Friar was the best; nobeast had ever been able to beat him!

Dangur was already speaking to the musicians. "Can you good moles play 'Rustlin' Rushes'?"

"Bo urr, Rustlin' Rushes? Moightn't et'n be too farst furr ee, zurr?"

"Oh, I wouldn't trouble me liddle head about that, m'moley friend."

The mole shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Awroight, zurr, if'n et be wot you'm wanten. Oi, Siltburr, whoi you'm be a-putten oop ee fiddle, young 'un?"

"Hurr, 'cuz oi can't play ee zong, zurr. Et be's too farst furr oi!"

The two contesting hedgehogs took their places for the old fiddle song, the music starting out very simple and the dancing only consisting of a bit of tapping and clapping.

Leslie the mousemaid had never seen the dance before. "Why do they consider this dance so hard?" she whispered to Stikle Furgin. "It seems as easy as any other I've seen."

Stikle laughed; he had seen it unnumerable times. In fact, he had even learned parts of it, but he still couldn't outjig his father Dangur. "Oh, don't you worry, it'll get harder soon 'nuff. By the way, Leslie, that was an interestin' poem you recitated a while ago. What does it mean?"

"Oh, that? Well, before this Abbey was built there was a mouse called Martin the Warrior, who was one of our founders. He lived many seasons ago, before old Abbess Avelle, and Mother Brilla, before Cregga and Mhera, and Arven, and Mattimeo, and Matthias the Warrior--"

Stikle cut in. "Matthias the Warrior? Was he like Martin the Warrior?"

Leslie smiled at her friends. "Aye, he was. As a matter of fact, that's what the poem is about. Martin carried a great sword, passed on to him by his father. But Martin had no son to pass the sword to when he died, so he hid the sword here in the Abbey where the next great warrior would have to find it."

"An' that warrior was Matthias?"

"Once again, you are correct. The sword now hangs above the tapestry of Martin the Warrior," here she pointed to where both hung in Great Hall, "where the last Redwall Warrior--"

"Shhhhhh!"

Several of the nearby beasts had had enough of the constant chattering of the two friends. "Well, that's what it's about," Leslie whispered quietly to Stikle.

"That's very intriguing, Leslie. Where did you learn all this?" Leslie turned to see Brother Lucas, who had appeared in their midst suddenly.

Leslie stuttered. She was taking Redwall history lessons with the Abbey Recorder, but he hadn't gotten to that part yet-- she had read it all during the times she hid in the gatehouse when she thought Brother Lucas wasn't around. "Brother Lucas, I, er, was just--"

The Brother silenced her with a wave of his paw. "Say no more Leslie, I--"

"_Shhhh_!"

Sheepishly, Brother Lucas apologized to the nearby Redwallers and sat back down as Leslie turned to watch the jigging contest again. She had not missed much, as the song was still relatively simple. Soon the music began to get more complex, and the dancing involved more stomping, hopping, and clapping. And as the difficulty of the song increased, so the amount of musicians decreased as one by one they began to drop out. As they neared the end of the song, which by this time only a few musicians were left playing, both Dangur Furgin and Friar Gringle were jigging for all they were worth to the old tune, tapping their footpaws rapidly on the stoned floor, spinning around, jumping, clapping, and hopping in complete unison until both were just a big, spiky blur. Both hedgehogs were panting heavily by this time. Suddenly, Gringle turned and sat down hard, his plump belly heaving up and down as he tried to recover his breath.

"I'm not as young an' spry as I once was. You win, friend!" Contrary to the common tradition of the winner also quitting after winning the challenge, Dangur never lost a step, completing the dance to the accompaniment of a long fiddler, the only musician left playing by this time. They finished amid thunderous applause from the hall of Redwallers, and especially from the woodlanders.

Stikle Furgin turned to his friend Leslie. "See? Ain't a creature 'live wot can beat m' old father!"

Dangur reached down and helped the Redwall Friar up. "Ye jigged up quite a storm there, old 'un. If you were any younger an' sprier I'd have been beat. You're a worthy opponent."

Gringle smiled back at him. "Aye, young 'og, but you're th' worthy winner!"


	8. Chapter 8

**__**

Chapter 8

Festivities ended, Abbess Avelle called to order the business part of the feast. She rapped on the table with her wooden beaker, saying, "If I may have everybeast's attention." Within a few moments the Hall was completely silent and all eyes were on the Abbess. "Thank you. Now, as our young Lingen has told you earlier today, vermin were sighted in Mossflower Wood. Apparently, there has been a battle with these vermin, and they have retreated, for the moment." Remembering the meeting earlier that day, most of the Redwallers kept a respectful silence even at news of a battle, apart from a few scattered whisperings. "No Redwallers or woodlanders were lost, thankfully, but it is the opinion of our guests,"-- here she indicated the woodlanders seated nearby-- "the Furgins and the Silvercoats, that we shall likely see the vermin again, soon. Mr.-- uh-- Poisonleaf?"

Poisonleaf Wolfbane stood to face the assembly. "Thank you, Mother Abbess. We did have a slight skirmish with the vermin this afternoon, but as the Abbess said, they retreated from the woods and went westward. That means we are all safe for the moment, but I know that we have by no means seen the last of them." Noting the Redwallers' mounting concern, he said, "Now, rest assured, young Stikle Furgin, who was actually a prisoner of the vermin, says that they don't know Redwall Abbey even exists. But if any of you have a suggestion on what we can do to prepare in the meantime, it would be most appreciated."

The entire hall remained virtually silent as everybeast present pondered on the problem at hand. A husky voice finally broke the silence. "Ho urr, oi thinks oi may 'ave a surgestin furr ee, zurr."

The Abbess looked across the Hall to the creature who has spoken. "Yes, Foremole?" she inquired.

Standing up, although it barely was any help with his unusually diminutive height, the mole leader continued. "Burr, seein' as we'm Redwallers can't go a-movin' in with ee woodlanders, an' they'm bain't a-movin' in yurr, oi sez to moiself, whoi not 'ave ee woodlanders form up they'mselves a koind o' pertrol or summat? Loik oi allus sez, thurr be's strength in numbers, ho aye!"

"Very good, Foremole!" Abbess Avelle praised. "Anybeast else have any comments?"

Gardil the Cellarhog, stood up. "I'm with Foremole, but would it work? Would the woodlanders willin'ly work together t'form this patrol? I mean, isn't th' reason th' woodlanders choose t'live in the woods instead o' elsewhere like the Abbey, isn't it 'cause they're such solitary creatures? I'm sure th' last thing I would want would be contact with a bunch o' other creatures."

This time it was the wise old Silvercoat Ferrence who responded. "You're right about some of the woodlanders, miss, but many, like the Furgins here, and myself, were simply brought up in the woods and do not wish to live anywhere else. But I'm sure that even the most solitary woodlanders would much rather work together with other beasts than be all by themselves when those vermin come a-calling."

"This is all utter nonsense!" exclaimed suddenly Sister Polly, whose paws were no longer occupied now that the Dibbuns had been taken up to the dormitories, and wanted to go up there herself. "What are _we_ talking about this for? We're Redwallers, not woodlanders. If anybeast should be making any of these decisions, it should be the woodlanders. Let them choose for themselves. I motion we adjourn."

"Very sensible idea, Sister Polly," Abbess Avelle said with a bang of her beaker that made some of the less alert Redwallers jump in their seats. "It is much too late to do anything else tonight anyway. On the day after next we will have a delegation to meet with the forest dwellers of Mossflower and present them with our idea. Brilla, Brother Lucas, I would like for you to accompany me in the delegation, along with Skipper, and-- oh yes, Foremole. Temmlock and young Lingen, would you be so kid and cover the entire wood tomorrow to tell everybeast in the are about this meeting. Detail as many messengers with you as necessary to do the job. Ah-- Friar Gringle, Gardil, we will need you to provide enough refreshments to feed all present. How many do you say we'll have there, Mr. Poisonleaf?"

"Oh, about threescore, I'd say."

"Right. Be sure to have ample food and drink prepared, and then some. We can survive on leftovers tomorrow if need be so you can work in the kitchens unhindered."

"No need f'that, Mother, I can 'andle it fine!"

"And finally, we need a meeting place. Mr. Poisonleaf, Mr. Silvercoat, Mr. Furgin, can you think of a good meeting place that would suit all the woodlanders?"

"I think I know jus' th'place, marm," suggested Dangur Furgin. "North up yonder's a glade, an openin' deep in th' middle o' Mossflower Wood. 'Tis a pop'lar meetin' place among th' woodlanders there; I been there once or twice m'self. Goes by th' name o' Treestone."

"Treestone, Treestone, hmm... Very good. Would you kindly take me over there tomorrow afternoon so I may have a look around and make preparations? It would be most appreciated."

"That I will, marm; 'twill be my honor!"

"Good. Then with that, I call this meeting-- adjourned!" Mother Abbess banged her beaker down on the table one last time to accentuate.

"Shh! Not s'loud daown thurr, mizz h'Abbess, 'twill wake ee sleepen choilds oop yurr! Hurr!"

****

~

Darkness covered the southwest shores in the iron grip of night, the sun temporarily banished in wake of its relentless reign over earth and beast, land a sea. The stone fortress of Kortron stood dark and mysterious, unable to free itself from the grasp of the moonless night. Within the heavily-lighted interior, on his throne sat Raslor, Lord of Kortron. He was a fox, red-furred, tall, and mighty. The crimson color of his thick, smooth fur coat stood out as a symbol of Lord Raslor's infamy: bloodshed. Just as at that moment darkness ruled the shores in a grip of night, so the fox of the southwest ruled the shores in a grip of cruelty. This was his domain, Kortron, the great corsair kingdom and terror of the south coasts.

Raslor sat motionless as the doors to his throne room were closed, leaving him alone with the old traveling river otter; he had been captured by a ferret called Bloik, one of the corsair captains who docked at Kortron. When the doors had closed, the fox lord turned his eyes towards the old otter, neither moving a muscle nor displaying any sign of emotion. The otter felt his piercing gaze as he looked up at the fox, flanked by a large, lavish scarlet throne, draped silken curtains on the wall, and treasures of all kinds-- gold, coins, priceless weapons, jewelry-- in clear view all around him in the tall room.

Chills went down the otter's back at the sound of the fox Raslor's voice-- level, calm, emotionless, but deadly at a moment's notice. "They tell me you are a traveler," he said simply, his voice echoing across the walls of the room.

"Y-yes, sire," the old otter responded shakily, feeling somewhat small in the large hall.

"Look around you," said the fox with a gesture of his paw. The otter did as he was bidden, not daring to disobey. "I, Raslor, Lord of the South Seas and the Fortress of Kortron, I who carry both life and death within my mighty paws, I alone possess the greatest riches in the south seas, nay, the entire world. There is not a precious treasure I have seen that does not lay here in my great fortress. Tell me-- and your life depends on your honesty-- have you ever seen any treasure as fine as that which you see before you?"

"M- my lord, the great riches Your Greatness possesses here are many and v- valuable. They are as great as the precious gold of the eastern mountains, the fabled pearls-- Tears of All Oceans, they call them, the great battle sword of Redwall Abbey--"

"What?" He had caught the fox ruler's interest. "A great battle sword?"

"Aye, s-sire, the legendary sword of Martin the Warrior. It is said that it hangs in the great Abbey of Redwall, if such a place exists."

"Tell me more, my prisoner." A look of greed and desire began to spread across his face.

"Well, accordin' to legend, it was forged by one of the ancient Badger Lords of the northern shores, from a rock that came from the sky. Martin the Warrior was said to have been one of the greatest Warriors of all time. Ever since his time, many warlords and rulers have fallen by the hand of he who wields the Sword of Martin."

Raslor was completely entranced by the stories of this legendary sword. "This Redwall Abbey-- where is it located?"

"I was told that the Abbey of Redwall lies in Mossflower country, north of here, at the western edge of Mossflower Wood. It is supposedly a very prosp--"

"Yes, that will be just enough, old one. Guard," he called across the hall, to which a rat guard stuck his head around the door. "Take this prisoner down to the prison level and lock him up." His cruel eyes surveyed the sniveling otter coldly; the otter had expected a reward for his information. "I shall deal with him later; to nobeast shall he tell his tale ever again. Also, summon for me Bloik the ferret, my captain. He is to report to me at once."

Once he was alone again, Raslor let out a laugh-- a greedy laugh-- which rang out around the entire hall. He would have that great battle sword, to be the greatest of his valuable possessions, no matter how great the cost. Nothing escaped his mighty grasp-- it would soon be his!


	9. Chapter 9

**__**

Chapter 9

It was at that very time that the horde of Skarliff Krigg the ferret Warlord had trekked all night across the western plains, driven on and on by their torrential leader. Not even Durg, the head captain dared speak to him as he brewed with silent rage. "Lookit ol' Krigg up there, willya, marchin' on an' on like a fox wid' 'is tail afire," a horderat at the back of the horde whispered to another of his kind.

The rat nodded as they marched on, adding with a smirk, "Aye, he looks like a boilin' toad an' fit t'burst!"

They were shushed by a nearby stoat who had heard their comments. "Shh, quiet back there me hearties, don't let the ferret or one o' his cap'ns hear ye talkin' like that. He may be fit t'burst, but I don't wanna' be around when 'e does!"

.

It was a little before dawn when the exhausted horde reached their destination. Immediately after Durg got the order and called a halt, some threescore vermin slumped to the ground, panting and pawsore. Skarliff ignored them, standing a distance off and staring into the darkness. Durg approached him. "Wot is it, sire?"

"Something's not right. Usually scouts are sent out to meet us on our way back, but we didn't see any the whole way here."

"Wot d'yer reck'n's goin' on?"

"I can't say offclaw, but if it's what I think it is, they're going to be in for a surprise," he said simply. Summoning Longtooth, the other captain he had brought with him, they left the weary hordebeasts and headed off into the darkness; fatigue was not a thing the ferret Warlord felt at the moment. In a very short time they reached a camp alongside the River Moss, which the marching horde had marched parallel to since they reached it a few hours before. Embers of the previous evening's campfires lay cold and unstirred, with the exception of those of the sentries posted. This was where camped the body of Skarliff Krigg's great vermin horde.

Hundreds of sleeping vermin were strewn all over the camp, sending up a considerable din of mingled snores. The ferret, stoat, and rat stealthily stalked around the camp in a wide arc, finally reaching a large tent designated Krigg's headquarters. At this moment it was the headquarters of the stoat Scurlegg, the captain Skarliff Krigg had left in charge while he was gone. The Warlord had been just that, a Warlord, long enough to know never to take any chances; he was no fool. It was quiet-- but almost too quiet. After a few whispered words from Skarliff, Durg cut back and disappeared, avoiding the few lookouts at the camp. The sun was now beginning its rise up the eastern horizon, spilling a palette of colors over the landscape, but this was lost on the Warlord. Flanked by his rat captain Longtooth, he approached the tent from behind, quietly slitting a small flap at the bottom of the canvas with his sword. Ducking to get in through the newly-made hole, he thought on it and checked himself, letting his captain enter first. Nothing happened, even after Krigg himself entered. The tent was empty, save for the snoring captain. Noiselessly, they split up, approaching Scurlegg from both directions.

Now they were ready to reveal their presence. Skarliff Krigg, sword sheathed, made a slight tap on the ground with his footpaw, as if by accident. The stoat heard it. Through half-closed eyes Scurlegg saw Skarliff sneak up towards him with his sword undrawn. At the moment he judged the Warlord was close enough, he turned on his side and reached for his cutlass. The stoat found his throat being tickled at the end of Longtooth's blade; the one sure way to guarantee obedience from a captain was rivalry. "Quiet now, my captain," the Warlord said under his breath at scarcely a whisper. "Wouldn't want to wake anybeast up on such a pleasant morning, would we?" The stoat shook his head nervously. "Good. Now, would you kindly join us outside my tent?" They half-dragged the captain outside the tent by way of the hole in the back. Scurlegg was shaking all over; it was unwise not to be scared when Skarliff Krigg pretended to be cordial but openly wasn't. They pushed the struggling captain around to the side of the tent furthest from the camp, where thick grass concealed them easily. Here they stopped, Skarliff suddenly turning and looking at the trembling captain with mock pity. "You look unwell. Perhaps you would like to go back to your tent?" Scurlegg shook his head fervently, not daring to speak with the point of Longtooth's sword so close. "Of course you would. Go on!" he said as he shoved Scurlegg forward in front of the tent.

He was dead before he hit the ground, transfixed with a dozen arrows. In a flash Durg and a score of vermin surrounded the archers before they could pull another arrow from their quivers. It was all over.

.

There was a game that the Warlord Skarliff Krigg enjoyed playing with his condemned prisoners: set them free and watch as a score of archers shoot them down as they try to run away. Today his fun would be doubled-- they were near a river.

It was midmorning after the horde had eaten breakfast-- cold gruel and fish, no less-- when Skarliff had the horde assembled by the river with their respective captains. Skarliff himself had a score of his best archers lined up in front of him along the side of the river. Then, in full view of the horde, he had the prisoners brought out to him.

Of the dozen vermin caught up in Scurlegg's conspiracy, most were rats, with the exception of two weasels and a stoat. The ferret Warlord addressed the horde. "These prisoners you see before you today are traitors, caught in a conspiracy against your own leader." As if on cue, shouts and jeers at the conspirators rang out from the horde. The Warlord raised his paw. "Under normal circumstances these traitors would be executed, but I, Skarliff Krigg, am a merciful leader. I will give them all a chance to escape-- they will have the opportunity to swim for their freedom. Unchain the prisoners and march them into the shallows."

After this was done, Skarliff Krigg raised his sword above his head for all to see, saying, "I give you your life and your freedom; they are both in your own claws. Swim!" The dozen vermin dove into the water, some going west and some east, even pushing each other out of the way in their frenzy to get out of range of the archers. After a few seconds Krigg lowered his sword, signaling the archers to fire at will. The furthest of the escapees had not swam five feet when they were hit with a volley of arrows, slaying many before they had even swam as far as the shallows. Those who survived did not have to wait long before the deadly shafts found them also. Volley after volley shot down at the river, some slicing the water, some hitting their targets, all the while the Warlord looking on at the sport with satisfaction. In a trice the gruesome game was over; once again, the archers had won. The losers lay scattered in the shallows like pincushions or floating midriver like gnarled pieces of driftwood. Such was the mercy of Skarliff Krigg.

.

The threescore hordevermin who had gone to Mossflower Wood with Krigg and the two captains, and had actually come back, had been set aside from the rest of the horde and put on breadcrust-and-water rations as a sign of the reward for incompetence, until either Skarliff Krigg decided on a punishment for their cowardly performance against the woodlanders the day before, or he forgot his anger and restored their former positions in the horde. Two-thirds of the unlucky hordebeasts had been sent out to forage upriver or fish, although the supply of aquatic life had decreased dramatically since the arrival of the large horde at the river. The remaining score of vermin were given the undesirable task of throwing the bodies of the dead "escapees" who lay in the shallows into the middle of the river, so they could join their floating comrades on their journey out to sea by the current. Although Durg supervised the operation closely with Longtooth gone with the foraging party, this did not stop them grumbling behind his back.

The weasel Knobear spoke under his breath to a water rat called Fercot as they lifted a rat corpse from the water and threw it midriver with a sickening splash. "Lookit lord 'igh an' mightiness o'er there, orderin' away while we do all th' laborin'. 'E 'asn't done a lick o' real work for as long as I can 'amember."

"Aye, 'tis so, matey," agreed Fercot. "An' didyer see wot 'appened t'these poor hearties? They was only followin' that scurvy blaggut Scurlegg's orders, an' now they're dead. An 'ow they died-- if'n that's mercy, I'll be striped wi' me own cutlass."

"Well 'old on wi' that blade o' yers-- 'ear comes that stoat t'order us 'round agin." As they went about their business again, Knobear added in an undertone, "Reckon th' ferret 'as t'be cruel like that, so's the vermin'll be afeared of 'im an' do wot 'e says."

"I reckon so, mate. I jest 'opes 'e don't start lookin' at our crew now that 'e don't have nobeast t'make a h'essample of."

.

The reeds and rushes on the north bank of River Moss stood motionless, besides an occasional breeze stirring, as if they were waiting for something. Then, as if fulfilling the anticipation, a noise could be heard-- a sort of dragging sound. There, on the edge of the bank, Griptrill, a dark lean-bodied weasel was pulling himself up onto the bank from the shallows. Two different arrows stuck out of him at his shoulder and leg from his supposed execution, but he had still managed to retain consciousness and stay afloat until he was out of sight from the camp on the south bank. Now that he had brought himself a safe distance up the northern bank on his last reserves of strength, the dark weasel collapsed, exhausted, the arrows still in his side, but-- despite all else-- alive.

.

The sun hung high in the sky that afternoon, blazing down on the waters of the great western sea unrelentlessly as the lone survivor of the forgotten summer. There beneath the glare of the afternoon sun stood Captain Bloik, leaning against the railing of his vessel, a dark schooner dubbed _Blackhull_. Shading his eyes with one paw, the ferret corsair peered out across the watery horizon. After a few seconds he turned and called across the deck to the steersbeast, "Still nothin' yet, matey, but keep 'er due north 'til evenin'; then we're 'eaded nor'east."

The steersbeast, a pine marten called Signa, merely nodded as Bloik paced the deck once more and returned to his cabin; he had already told her the same thing since they left Kortron, each time searching the eastern horizon restlessly and returning to his cabin. "Seems uneasy, like 'e 'spects somethin' to 'appen," she commented to her sister Sainla, who was standing nearby.

Sainla, who was the bosun of the crew on the _Blackhull_, looked out to the eastern horizon. "Ain't ye 'eard? 'Tis the fiery mountain o' the northern shores, ruled by great badger warriors'n'rabbit type beasts, so I'm told. I don't wanna be caught near there anymore'n Cap'n Bloik do."

"What're yew bildgescrapin's jawin' about up 'ere?" a searat called Ringnose yelled impudently at the two pine martens upon coming up to the stern deck on his rounds.

Sainla's teeth ground audibly together with hatred. "None o' yore business, rat," she growled with her back still turned, pawing at the cutlass at her side.

"As first mate on this ship, everything's my business, sea-weasel."

The insult hit Sainla's back like a knife from the hot-headed searat. This was not the first time that day since they had left Kortron that things had heated up between the pine marten and the inexperienced seafarer Ringnose. "Oh, that's right. The fox made ye first mate 'cuz yore 'is pet, ain't is so, Signa? Guess 'e didn't know what a coward ye really re, or 'ow much ye _really_ know 'bout sailin'."

The air rang with the sound of Ringnose drawing his itchy cutlass as he challenged, "I'll bet yew could teach me a thing er two, couldn't ya', eh?"

Sainla whirled around, blade drawn and eyes blazing. "Aye, that I could, rat, but it'll be yore last lesson!"

All of the sudden their captain Bloik was among them like a flash, ending their quarrel with a raised voice. "None o' that, yew two! The Fox didn't send us out to get the entire crew carved up afore we land. Our job is only t'find this Abbey o' Redwall, an' nothin' else, me hearties. Now if y'don't want ter answer to me blade, then git back t'word an' don't let me see either o' yew startin' anymore trouble."

Still glaring at Sainla from beneath his furrowed eyebrows, Ringnose climbed down the ladder to the lower deck. After Bloik had left for the captain's quarters Sainla made as if to take a step towards where Ringnose had gone to with her cutlass still drawn, but her sister Signa stopped her. "Leave it be fer now, mate. Yew 'eard wot Cap'n Bloik said. B'sides, we'll git our chance soon anuff-- you'll see." Still holding the helm with one claw, the steersbeast drew her own blade, a straight sword, and licked its keen edge slowly. "Maybe not now, but the time will come, sister o' mine." With Sainla listening closely, the pine marten explained her plan. Besides just their differing blades, the sisters shared many complimentary differences: among them, Sainla's violent temper and great skill with a blade to Signa's keen eye and calm composure, which was why she was steersbeast, Sainla's completely tattooed right arm to Signa having no tattoos whatsoever, and the two god earrings which Sainla always wore to Signa's preference of wearing no jewelry at all.

"So it will be, sister o' mine," Sainla said after hearing Signa's plan. "The proper day'll come, and it's for that day we will wait. As it 'as been, so will it be." Despite their many differences, the two rarely trusted any else, and often times would combine against common odds as a fearsome and powerful duo-- and it was woe to the beast who started trouble with either of them. Sainla too raised her drawn cutlass, and licked the edge of it in a like manner; she then swung forward her sword in front of her, where both blades met with a clang of metal while their voices shouted as one to the sea:

"Death to our enemies!"

Trouble was coming to Mossflower; so was the _Blackhull_.


	10. Chapter 10

**__**

Chapter 10

Treestone glade was a famous landmark in Mossflower Wood that bordered on the northern pathway; it was named after a strange rock formation at the edge of the glade, which looked very much like a tall pine tree. It was the second morning after the Redwall feast, and a temporary tent shelter had been set up the day before for the delegation meeting. Abbess Avelle, Mother Brilla, Brother Lucas, Skipper of Otters, and Foremole sat under the canvas shade along with Ferrence Silvercoat, Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Shadowfeather, Dangur and Stikle Furgin, and twoscore-and-a-half woodlanders, as well as Friar Gringle, Gardil Cellarhog, and Gringle's assistant Benno.

"Is everybeast here?" Abbess Avelle asked presently.

"Well, almost," said Wolfbane, indicating the spot where Temmlock Trapella, the flattering squirrel, was supposed to have been by then. "... But never mind. Carry on then, as Temm might say." Brother Lucas rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well,... The shall we start? Good. Welcome, woodlanders all. We are most grateful that you chose to come here today, for I believe what we have to say is more for your benefit than ours. First, I take it most of you know the Furgins, Dangur and Stikle, and the foxes Shadowfeather, Mr. Poisonleaf, and Mr. Silvercoat. Those of you who do not, you might be having your doubts about whether or not foxes are trustworthy allies--"

"Aye, marm, y'took th'words right outta my mouth!" called a middle-aged woodvole, accompanied by a few snickers.

"... But I myself can vouch for their loyalty, and bravery, as can many other beasts who are gathered here today," Abbess Avelle finished.

"Well, that's good enough for me, but I still wouldn't wanna be left by myself with th' likes of 'em," came the voice of the same woodvole, once again with some scattered snickers.

The woodvole suddenly found himself staring into the grim eyes of a dark-furred fox-- Wolfbane. "What's your name, vole?" Wolfbane said nearer a low growl.

The vole's spine chilled. "Er, eh, M- Miggon, s- s- sir," he stumbled out nervously.

"May I sit here, Miggon?"

"S- sure, help y'self," the dazed woodvole managed to get out as the fox sat down next to him. He had almost expected the fox to do something treacherous like all foxes do, like knock him out and steal all his belongings, or sell him as a slave, or worse, run him through right then and there. So this came as a slight surprise, as it did many times to whoever met the fox and his family; he wasn't even carrying a weapon!

The Abbess went on: "Now, some of you are aware that there have been vermin abroad in Mossflower Wood as of late. They are no longer here-- they receded westward two days ago, thanks to the Furgins and Mr. Trapella and especially our fox friends here, on the day of our Fall feast. It was there we thought of a possible solution-- our Foremole thought of a solution--" she nodded at the mole leader, "which we have all agreed upon and hope you too will see as a very good idea, and possibly our best--"

"Ah, and there we are! Here's the tent now!" Temmlock Trapella appeared outside on the path, chatting away with Lingen Reguba, another squirrel and a woodmouse. Ignoring the other beasts there, he strode in gaily and plopped himself down next to Wolfbane. "I say Bane, nice mornin' for a daily continental, eh? Hullo, am I late?" he said, noticing for the first time all the faces staring at him.

"Huh, you late? Not for a good 'scoffin' ', you're late," Mother Brilla muttered with her face in her paws. Straightening, she said, "Yes, you're late if you're referring to the meeting, which I doubt, and no if you're referring to the food."

Temmlock beamed. "Ah, good news if I ever did hear it! All that runnin' around yesterday has given me quite an appetite-- at least for a week or so."

Friar Gringle had been uncovering a platter of pasties with the mouse Benno when he heard this. Quickly he covered it back up. "Well you better keep your paws, an' that 'earty appetite o' yourn, 'way from 'ere while _I'm_ 'round, you treacherous scal'wag!" he called across the tent.

Amid laughter following this statement, and the resuming of the business part of the meeting, a young female squirrel behind Wolfbane whispered, "Are they really serious? I mean, do they not like your friend as much as it sounds?"

The fox leaned back and, after looking side to side, whispered, "One thing everybeast learns sooner or later is this: never take anything seriously while Temm's around. I should know-- he's been my closest friend for as long as _I_ can remember!"

The squirrel looked somewhat confused. "So you're saying that not everything they say is what they really actually mean?"

Wolfbane smiled. "Aye, missie, that and lock up th' larders when you see a certain squirrel about!"

Meanwhile Brother Lucas and Abbess Avelle were trying to get Foremole to speak, who had become very bashful all of the sudden. Speaking wasn't one of his strong points when he wasn't around his other moles, and any nerve he had built up to speak here he had lost during Temmlock's entrance. "Go on Foremole, we're all friends; all we want you to do is explain your idea to the good woodlanders here," said Brother Lucas, to which Foremole responded by crinkling up his small, furry face and saying, "Hurr, urr, oi were a-thinkin', 'bowt ee-- 'bowt ee-- ho urr, hurr, bo uuuurrrr, hurrrrr, hurr hurr hurr!" and covering his crinkled face with his digging claws in embarrassment.

After a great deal of fruitless coaxing, it was Skipper of Otters who finally filled in for Foremole and explained the idea of a "forest patrol" to the woodlanders. The response was positive as the woodland animals there nodded their heads to each other, although at the time they did not know each other all that well yet, being woodlanders. One of them, the squirrel who had come with Temmlock and Lingen, stood up to speak; short and simple, it voiced the thoughts of the majority of woodlanders. "Sounds like a good idea. Y'can count me in!" This statement was met by many cheers of agreement.

" 'Sright! 'Slong as there's foebeasts a-comin', we'll be a-fightin'!"

"Y'have my service and sword t'command!"

"Lemme at ee vermints, hurr, oi'll give 'em billyo!"

"Lead on, O mighty-- say, 'oo's in charge?"

The tent became silent. They hadn't thought about this yet. Temmlock, hoping for enthusiasm's sake to keep the tempo of the meeting going, stood up. "That's right! Every good patrol needs a commander. But who..."

Heads turned away to look about for a likely-- any other-- candidate; they obviously did not want this position themselves.

"I don't' know nothin' 'bout commanderin', jus' woodlanderin'."

"Aye, y'can expect me t'fight, aye, an' fight well when th' time comes, but I'm no leader either."

Many of the woodlanders agreed with these statements, and some made more like statements, until Wolfbane's sister, Shadowfeather, leapt up to her feet. "So, y'would give up so easily as this? Of course y'need a commander, but we're not asking every one of you to volunteer! You don't have to know anything different from what you know already, you just have to know how to fight, and how to tell otherbeasts how to fight."

"If'n it's so easy, why don't you do it?" chuckled a young dormouse.

The dormouse was boxed across the ears by Miggon, the same woodvole who had earlier been making jokes at the foxes himself. "Hush yer disrespectin' talk an' show some, er, respect, young 'un!"

"Why _don't_ you take the position, sister?" Wolfbane said, shoving her playfully. "You certainly've never had any problem commanding otherbeasts, as I recall." He laughed, but was cut short as his sister returned the gesture.

"Why don't _you_ take the position, smarty?" she said as she shoved her brother sideways.

" 'Ey, I never said I wanted t'be no commander of no patrol--"

"Say, that's not a bad idea," Temmlock chimed in. "Ol' Wolfbane the Poisonleaf'd be the perfect commander-- big, tough, crafty as a--"

"Hold it, whose side are you on, you backstabbing little fiend?"

Ignoring his friend's jesting insults, Temm turned to the woodlanders. "Whadya' say, eh? Just look at this formidable warrior, will ya'? He can outwit anybeast in the whole o' Mossflower-- and a born leader, too!"

"Born leader? Ha! I don't know anything about being a leader!"

"All in favor of electing Poisonleaf Wolfbane th' fox, an' my personal friend, your very first patrol commander, say aye!"

"Temmlock, I'm not cut out to be any 'patrol commander', an' you know perfectly well--"

"Aye!" came the unanimous vote while Wolfbane ground his teeth and glared at Temmlock, although his attitude was still not unkindly.

"Very well," he said finally, "you want a commander, then you've got one." He turned on his friend. "And for my first order as Commander, I decree that the squirrel Bobbelo Temmlock Trapella, the second of that name, shall chop an ample supply of firewood to last the whole patrol this winter, give up pinching food from the official larders, be put on strict rations of--"

"Sorry, Bane ol' pal, not in your jurisdiction y'know, just an honest peace-lovin' Redwaller!" the squirrel called running off to the other end of the tent where the food was being served, and leaving much laughter in his wake.

.

For such a short notice, Friar Gringle had produced quite a fare for the delegation meeting. He and Benno had set out three kinds of bread, the pasties he had been setting up earlier, leek turnovers, a platter of crisp vegetables, and apples from the orchard, and two fresh pies, alongside tankards and beakers of the best Gardil Cellarhog could offer from her cellars. The woodlanders and Abbey leaders lined up at the tables set up, headed of course by Temmlock the squirrel. "Make way for the Commander!" shouted a voice near the end of the line, however.

"What's that? The Commander? What for?" Temmlock turned.

"Our new Commander should get first choice o' th' vittles," said the voice again, which was Wolfbane's new friend Miggon the woodvole. "Ain't that right, fellow patrol beasts?"

"Oh, aye, Commanders first!"

"Leaders before commoners, I always say!"

Before he could lodge any kind of complaint Temmlock found himself being lifted up comically and placed none too gently outside the tent, with much theatrics on Commander Wolfbane's part. "They are right, y'know," the fox winked, "bein' just a common Abbeydweller puts you in lower rank than a Patrol Commander."

The squirrel stammered, dumbfounded. "But- I was- that was my- but- but--"

The fox silenced him with a wave of his paw. "Don't worry, don't worry, you'll still get your vittles- and to show you what a sport I am, the first plate shall go to the best friend of the Commander of the newly-formed Mossflower Forest Patrol." Making for the tables, Wolfbane noticed Temmlock following close behind, heading straight for the food that had been laid out. Catching a glance from the Redwall Friar, he stopped suddenly. "Eh, but I'm afraid you'll have to stay right here while I take a moment t' fill your plate for you. I still get first choice, after all, no matter if it's for me or not. Besides, I'm not all too sure ol' Ovenspikes here trusts you around his culinary territory for some reason!"

.

Longtooth the horde captain was not having things very easy. First he had taken more than his share of blame for the defeat in Mossflower Wood, and now he was being forced to do the common work of foraging, upon penalty of death, no doubt. Such was the life of vermin.

The burly horderat, sporting an unusually long curving fang across his lip as a trademark, sighted out the riverbank down the wooded horizon. Hordebeasts under his command foraged along it and the nearby foliage for anything form the odd fish to edible herbs and plants nearby. It was dreary work even for twoscore scavengers, for they had been sent to supply an entire horde of several hundred vermin. Food was scarce already, but such was the life of vermin.

.

It was well into the day when Longtooth had called the twoscore foraging party back downriver, or nearly all. Miles away eastward a handful of vermin, like unheeding Dibbuns had wandered off far out of earshot. They were mostly rats, but for a stoat who had appointed himself leader of their "expedition", whose only true ambition was to get as far away from Krigg's camp as possible and bolt for it. This he kept to himself, of course. "Stabear!" he called to a rat who had gone ahead among the trees. "Stabear me cully, wot's that y'got there eh?"

"Looks like a sort o' clearing," the rat called back, pointing. "Wot d'ye think of it?"

"Let's 'ave a look, eh mates?" he responded heartily, still wanting to humor the rats for the moment; this might prove interesting and-- profitable-- anyway. Upon close examination it turned out to be a kind of temporary campsite. From his vantage point he could easily pick out cloaked figures sitting in a circle-- unwary travelers, obviously: the best kind of prey. Drawing his hefty saber he signaled to the rest of the company, who broke through the shrubbery behind him, the scent of plunder fresh in their nostrils. "C'mon mates, chaaarge! Take no prisoners, an' th' booty's fair game for all!"

Before they had laid blade to the travelers, who had strangely remained unroused, suddenly the lead stoat's call was cut short with a sharp gasp, and he fell forward with an arrow buried in the side of his neck. The others stopped dead in their tracks, figuratively, taken completely off guard. It was not until another had fallen next to the first with a sigh and a thud that the remaining rats split and ran. Two more were felled with the same silent shafts before they were out of range, well aware of their peril now. A husky treble voice rang out in the trees. "Ahahahahahaha! Cut an' run, ye cowardly vermin whilst ye can! Th'art next, bear in they crooked minds! Alayna hast spoken!" Before the voice had finished the vermin, heedless of direction, scattered both ways along the river's course. Scarce had they left when a large full-grown ottermaid bounded through the camp, disheveling the cloaked sacks set in the middle, the so-called campers. " 'Tis the oldest ploy known t'vermin, huh, now turned against the scum. Jumped into it like a cat to a river full o' pike, they did!" She turned downstream, where most of the rats were out of sight, and loosed a shaft at the back of a straggler. "They'll head right back for their little vermin camp, t'be sure. 'Tis these others who'll be great sport for my bow. Keep running, ye vermin, but know that death followeth in the wind!" With that she turned in pursuit of those who had been unwittedly cut off from the way to their camp, heading eastward at a loping gallop with the exhilaration of the hunt burning deep in her eyes.

.

Before long Redwallers and woodlanders alike were served and seated comfortably-- on the ground, no less-- and chatting away with complete strangers, which most were, like they were lifelong friends. Friar Gringle lounged in his favorite wooden chair which he had insisted on bringing, eyeing his young mouse assistant, who stood before him wringing his paws. "Well, wot is it, young Benno? Y'look like a wee weaselbabe 'oo's been caught a-stealin' eggs. Go on, whad'ya want, eh?"

"Well, Friar Gringle, sir, could I have something too? To eat, I mean. Something to eat?"

"Of course, that's what it's there for. I already 'ad a bit o' somethin' afore we left th'Abbey. Go on, ye young 'un, be off with ye an' enjoy y'self!" The kindly hedgehog Friar shooed off the young mouse with his dockleaf, commenting as he left, "Ah well, 'ee's a good young 'un, Gardil me cousin. 'Ee'll turn out th' next Friar, y'wait an' see-- ain't much 'ope f'young Leslie, I'm afraid, but Benno there shows some real promise; jus' needs a bit o' encouragement, s'all. Mark m'words!"

After serving himself a heaping platter of anything he could lay his paws on and being shooed off by Mother Brilla, who called him a "thieving young rip" and told him to be off with him, Benno was soon hitting it off well with the only other mouse near his age there, the woodmouse who had come with Temmlock, Lingen, and another squirrel.

" 'Allo," he said after he sat down.

" 'Allo," the other mouse replied with a mouthful of turnover in his mouth. "My name's Maxillo-- Maxillo Fernwood."

"And I'm Benno-- eh, just _plain_ Benno, though. Where are you from, Maxillo? Mossflower Wood?"

"Southsward," he answered simply.

"Hmm, Southsward, Southsward... it sounds familiar enough. Where is it located?"

"To the south, I'd say," Maxillo joked.

Benno laughed. "I expected as much. But where south? What _is_ Southsward?"

"You mean to tell me you don't know?" he asked, surprised. "Southsward is the great squirrel kingdom, from beyond the Great South Stream to the woods south of Castle Floret. Castle Floret was the home of the royal family, served by their otter guard. If I recall correctly from my records-- the records of the great Scholar Egbert, of which were saved a few old volumes, although I was still very young then-- the royal family can be traced all the way back to Gael Squirrelking, the ancient king who lived during Egbert's time, when the first records of Redwallers in Southsward can be found--"

"Redwallers in Southsward?" Benno couldn't help but interreupt Maxillo's run-on sentence.

"Of course," he said matter-of-factly. In a very short while Benno had begun to notice some uncanny similarities between Maxillo's manner and that of Leslie the kitchen mouse-- he was starting to envy her knowledge of Redwall history, which was one thing he had never paid much attention to. Maxillo continued. "It was Questors from Mossflower, from Redwall Abbey itself. Let me see-- there was Dandin, and Mariel, and her father Joseph, the Bellmaker, and Rufe Brush the squirrel, and Durry Quill, Hon Rosie the hare, and one they called the 'Foremole'."

Benno gave a low whistle. Leslie would sure have met her match here! "Yes, go on," he said. "What else of Southsward then? What else is there? Are you from that Castle Whatsit, or somwhere else in Southsward?"

In answer Maxillo said merely two words: "Fern Hollow." Without hearing anything else but the mere name, Benno felt as if he had already been there times over. He did not have to wait long to hear about it though. "Fern Hollow," Maxillo repeated with a faraway look in his eyes as if he were gazing at something Benno could not yet see. "Fern Hollow was my home-- I was born there, and I lived all my life there, up until-- that is, until we came here. It was north of Castle Floret, and the home of the peaceful woodland beasts of Southsward, who founded it long ago. To be back home, where the rain trickles down from the eaves of the great oaks, and the warm sun beams softly on your back from above the treetops, and the autumn leaves shower the world in a blanket of color you can roll yourself up in, and in the winter when all is covered in a down of snow and all the trees turn white like a dove, and spending the winter in the great underground hall under the Hollow itself with good cheer and friends upon friends gathered together in merriness, as if it would never come to an--"

He stopped suddenly, leaving Benno looking in rapt expectation. All that was around them had faded away, giving way to far away places and splendorous woods with happy creatures telling stories around the fire about such as these. Had he seen it with Maxillo's eyes he would have also seen a small mousebabe, wrapped snugly in a shawl, and looking up at his father's merry eyes as they sang a song of their home,

O'er wint'ry halls  
And sleeping glades  
Come, my child,  
Fern Hollow waits.

.

The spell was suddenly broken, bringing them back to Mossflower Wood and Treestone Glade and the woodlanders and Redwallers there, with the sound of a husky voice far, far away, but coming steadily nearer. "I say, eh, again, don't you agree, Maxillo?"

Maxillo looked up to see his squirrelfriend whom had come with him with Temmlock and Lingen. "Oh, um-- yes, Otta," he heard himself say, as if subconsciously he had remembered the question. The squirrel had been discussing different diversionary tactics with Temmlock Trapella and Poisonleaf Wolfbane.

"I say, pardon me," the squirrel said suddenly, "where's my manners? Wolfbane, this is my good friend and traveling companion Maxillo Fernwood."

"On behalf of the goodbeasts of Mossflower country, let me welcome you both," Wolfbane nodded as they shook paws. "Strangers are always welcome, so long as their intentions are peaceful."

"Thank you, sir. We grew up together-- you might say we're somewhat inseperable, squirrel and mouse. As a matter of fact, I was just telling Benno here all about our old home-- oh wait-- Benno, meet the best friend I have in the world."

Benno shook paws with the sturdy red squirrel. "Ottakar the Archer of Southsward, at your service."

"Benno of Redwall-- pleased, I'm sure. Are you from-- Fern Hollow-- too?"

"Oh, Otta?" Maxillo laughed. "You could say so, but he wasn't _born_ there. His parents lived in--"

"I think that's enough getting acquainted, don't you Maxillo?" Ottakar cut in. "Why don't we see what Temmlock's up to over there?" The irrepressible Redwal squirrel had wandered back to the food for what he called "secondies".

"I say, what's left on the ol' menu for a poor hungry squirrel, eh?" This question was met stone-faced by Mother Brilla, arms crossed, who apparently saw it as her duty to guard Gringle and Gardil's fare. "Brilla ol' gel, y'wouldn't stand in the way of a chap's tucker?"

The Badger Mother stood in front of him, unmoved. "You know I wouldn't, Bobbelo Temmlock, but you also know many beasts have hardly yet had _half_ your first generous helping of 'tucker'. I'm merely making sure there's some left for some o' those young 'uns afore you come an' fill your belly-- unless I have to ask Mr. Poisonleaf to make you see reason?"

"Mr. Poisonleaf" caught on quickly enough. "C'mon, Temm, see reason eh?" he winked. "Y'don't want me t'have to carry you back outta the tent again, do ya'?" It was then that the squirrel gave the worst possible retort.

"You wouldn't dare!"

The next moment Temmlock found himself sitting squarely down outside in the grass. Springing up, he stomped up to Wolfbane, where several woodlanders were already having fits of laughter at their interplay. "I bet y'wouldn't do that again!" he said defiantly.

Plonk! Temmlock was sitting outside again. "That does it, it's your turn! Help me out mates!" the squirrel called, going straight back in again.

While the others watched and laughed the larger woodlanders, including Ottakar the Archer, Dangur Furgin, and Miggon, helped hoist an enormous wriggling fox, who yelled his protest. " 'Ey, I say, this isn't funny! I'm your Commander, remember? It's mutiny, I say, mutiny! You'll never get away with it! Put me down!" This, of course, was a mistake, because they had just reached the northern path that led past Treestone Glade.

"You 'eard 'im mates, put 'im down!" Temmlock called. "He's th' boss!" Trying to drop a large, heavy fox however, proved a lot harder than it had been to pick him up. Struggling and grunting, the group tried in vain not to be pulled down with the fox, but soon collapsed into a heap of panting fur, laughing all the while. From his position on top of three other woodlanders, Wolfbane rolled over onto his back and lay on the path, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Some of the more alert beasts twitched suddenly. All became silent. They listened tensely to the woods about them, suddenly aware of a disturbance nearby. All of the sudden a rat came thundering through the woods on the other side of the path, running wildly and looking over his shoulder. He was followed by another of his kind, who hardly made it out of the thicket before he fell forward with a cry, transfixed by a strange red-fletched arrow. Wolfbane, who was closest, reached out and grabbed the other rat in mid-flight. "What's going on? What are you running from?" he asked the wide-eyes, shaking rat, trying to get his attention.

"Run, mate, run shile ye still can!" the hysterical rat cried at the black fox, confusing him for one of the horde. "It's comin', after us, kill us all! Ambushed us it did, arrows an'--" He stopped sharply as the whiz of an arrow hit the air, and he fell suddenly forward into Wolfbane's arms, a look of confused agony frozen on his face. The rat dropped limply to the ground, stuck with an arrow in his back.

Wolfbane stood, bewildered, staring at the rat when a voice echoed out of the forest. "Such is th' wrath of Alayna the otter on vermin!" The sound still echoed in the trees as out strode a cinnamon-red female otter with a longbow, nearly as long as she, strapped over her shoulder. She stopped at the fallen rat at the edge of the path, stooping over the pull her red shaft from its back. "Hmm, looks like I c'n use it again. Yon vermin's back di'n't 'arm it much," she commented to herself coldly, inspecting the shaft's length with one eyes closed.

Wolfbane broke. "Have you no mercy, otter?" he said, ashen-faced. The otter looked up and was startled to see who was addressing her.

"Hmph, a fox," she mused. "An' what would vermin knoweth about mercy?"

"I was talking to him! Don't' you understand? I was talking to him-- I was-- I was--" His voice cracked.

"Thou dost not understand too well, fox. Many seasons ago vermin killed my family in a rockslide. I wast the only survivor."

"Were these the vermin?" Wolfbane asked, pointing to the two rats.

"What dost it matter? They are vermin! Surely thou of all beasts should understandeth that, fox." Turning with dismissal for the dark fox, the otter addressed the woodlanders on the path. "I shalt not take more of thy time, friends. I'd advise thee to keep an eye on yon vermin, though-- shan't be trusted." She turned back to Wolfbane curtly. "If thou dost not mind, fox, yon arrow belongeth to me."

Quivering with rage, the fox yanked the arrow out of the rat's carcass, holding it a few seconds, then broke it and threw it at her feet. "There, take your arrow and go!"

Alayna the otter stood wordlessly, staring at him with hatred in her burning eyes. "If thou were not their prisoner," she said slowly, "thou wouldst be dead where thou standeth."

"He's not our prisoner!" blurted Miggon. "That's our Commander you're talkin' to!"

Alayna eyed the woodvole coldly. "Is he now. Well then, I shalt leave thee to thy fox friend and trouble thee no more." With that she turned and disappeared into the forest, longbow, crimson shafts and all. Temmlock looked at his friend, still standing on the path, staring where she had left.

"I say, should we be getting back t' the tent now, Bane?" he asked warily. Wolfbane turned, his primeval canine roots smouldering in his eyes like two red coals. Temmlock gasped inwardly, taken aback by the sudden change. His limbs shaking, Wolfbane stalked back to the tent, almost mechanically. A few stayed behind to bury the two rats, vermin though they were, while the others followed the fox silently to the tent. The entire glade, and the beasts in it, seemed to be affected somehow.

"This storm ain't rained itself out yet," thought Temmlock to himself, "not if I know Poisonleaf Wolfbane it ain't."


	11. Chapter 11

**__**

Chapter 11

Longtooth the rat and Knobear the weasel sat under the shade of a withered tree as the late afternoon waned. "Strange," Longtooth commented some way through their hushed conversation, " 'is Might'ness ain't been 'imself th' past day'r so. S'had 'imself shut up in 'is tent since noon yesterday an' ain't said scarce a word."

"Aye, cap'n, yer right. Seems t'me even that exercution yesserday 'e didn't enjoy much as 'e used to." Knobear ran a claw across his scarred cheek, thinking back. "Aye, I knowed it ever since we left th'woods day afore last..."

Longtooth snapped to attention, turning his head towards the weasel. "Wot are yer talkin' 'bout? That's one day I'd like t'ferget. Y'know 'e'll prob'ly go right back there within a fortnight wid' th' entire 'orde at 'is back t'get them woodlanders."

"Jus' wot I mean," Knobear continued, gnawing at his lip hungrily. "It's that fox, cap'n. Y'remember, don't ye? That great big fox wot was fightin' fer th' woodlanders an' chucked 'is spear at ol' Krigg 'imself. Struck me as 'e ain't been th'same since, like 'e were-- scared of 'im?"

"That's treasonous talk, Knobear. Yew know that," Longtooth muttered as he eyed the weasel, before leaning back against the tree and shutting his eyes. " 'Is Might'ness wouldn't 'ear o' no 'ordebeast callin' 'im scared o' nobeast, 'specially wid' 'is pet Durg listenin' 'round fer 'im... Heh heh, while 'e can," he chuckled to himself, drifting slowly to sleep.

.

In reality Knobear's suspicions were not far wrong. Skarliff Krigg's mind had not long left the thought of the black fox of the woods who had dared to challenge him. And then to add to his troubles, a group of his foraging rats had run into camp under one called Stabear, yelling news of a mad otter on the loose half a day's march down the river. Morale was slipping, even after the graphic execution he had overseen the day before. If he was going to keep the horde unconditionally under his control, he would have to make some examples-- in the horde and out.

And so the wheels of Skarliff Krigg's twisted mind turned, seeking the means to an end-- yes, and end; the end of any but himself.

.

Early evening of the day the Mossflower Patrol had been formed saw a small group of volunteers gathered at Treestone Glade already. Many who had decided to join the patrol had gone home to gather their few possessions and had not returned yet; others had been sent in different directions to spread the news of the new patrol and would return in a few days.

Poisonleaf Wolfbane sat in the shade of a tree at the edge of the glade, jovial as ever, even in the absence of his friend Temmlock who had gone as a messenger, so that nobeast could have even hinted at his stormy disposition earlier that day. As Temmlock had guessed, the storm had not rained itself out as of yet, but for the moment it had at least passed out of sight. He was watching an archery contest between a few of the younger beasts when two hefty moles came up the path and greeted the fox.

"Greetings, friends," he said as he shook their strong digging claws. "I know one of you-- you were at the meeting this morning, weren't you?"

The mole tugged his snout. "Yurr, that'n be roight. Oi be's Urrmun ee mole. Oi brought moin brother Urrburt an' we'm be wanten to join ee Farst Purtrol if'n ee'll take us. Din't 'ave much of ee 'ome leastways, zurr, an' we'm much be rather foighten ee vurrm'n th'n 'ousekeep'n'."

"Well you and your brother Herbert are more than welcome, Herman," said Wolfbane with a smile at their heavy country accents.

"Hurr, you'm be getten et wrong zurr," the brother said, "we'm be's Urrburt 'n' Urrmun!"

In the deep end of the glade opposite the path, where the archery contest was going on, Shadowfeather was instructing some of the younger recruits on the sue of a bow. The vixen was working with a squirrel named Swiftleaf, the young female squirrel who had spoken to Wolfbane at the meeting. After getting the proper stance, she released the string with a twang. The arrow glanced off, landing a few feet in front of somebeast else's target.

"Nice try-- you'll get it," Shadowfeather called as Swiftleaf bent over to pick up the stray arrow. As she came up to a standing position an arrow whizzed just above her head and thudded into the tree, causing her to hit her head on the shivering shaft on her way up. It was dead center on the target.

"Who shot that!" she yelled, yanking the arrow and throwing it. "It could have hit me!"

"As a matter of fact," came a voice, "it did. Or rather, you hit _it_." On the path with bow in paw stood Ottakar the Archer, who had just arrived with his friend Maxillo. "You might try sighting a line from the end of your arrow to the target, if it'll help. Oh, and keep the fletching on the right-- it won't hit the bow that way."

Swiftleaf visibly stewed. "That was a very careless thing to do! It could have hit me!" But her intended ears had already dismissed her, going instead to see the commander Wolfbane. She stalked off, sitting down under a tree and remaining wordless the rest of the evening.

"Pleasant evening, Poisonleaf," he said, sitting down in the shade. "How are things with our new Commander?"

"Wolfbane, if you please. Not my given name but it works," the fox said with his eyes still closed, from the short nap he had been taking before Ottakar's arrival. "But Commander Poisonleaf is feeling well, thank you. I've had an extremely good rest and feel fresh as a daisy."

"A rather _large_ daisy," commented Ottakar. "Where's Temm?"

"Oh, he's gone a bit northeast of here, looking for volunteers. He'll be back around tomorrow afternoon. Hmm… sounds like we have a winner already." Even with his eyes closed Wolfbane had judged correctly, for at that moment a fairly-young squirrel was being awarded by Shadowfeather with a quiver of newly-fletched arrows. Wolfbane got up slowly, opening his eyes finally. "Reckon I should congratulate him, eh?" Followed by Ottakar the Commander came and shook the squirrel's paw. "What's your name, young Master?"

"Tug, sir. I want to be a great fighter like you someday, and fight in battles, and kill lots of vermin." Childish as this statement sounded, it was said with genuine, if not naïve, sincerity.

"Tch, tch," Wolfbane replied, shaking his head. " 'Tis not a glorious thing t'shed blood, son' an' the most important thing a warrior learns is how to avoid it. How old are you, young 'un?"

"I became an adult last season, sir, and I'm no young 'un. I can take care of myself."

"Bah, 'ee's just a mere seedling," the fox joked, ruffling the squirrel's headfur. "When y'get t'be as old as I am, then you'll know. Besides, you're in the Forest Patrol now; it's _my_ job to take care of you."

.

That night the Forest Patrol pitched its tents at the edge of Treestone Glade. The score or so beasts already there sat around a small fire, warming themselves from the Autumn winds. The moles Urrmun and Urrburt were eventually persuaded to sing a mole song about cakes and puddings, which most only half understood and the brothers only half remembered. Wolfbane laughed the hardest of all when the brothers differed on the words, stopping to make it up as they went. Finally paws were clapped over their mouths as they began the "twenny-oneteened" verse, but even afterwards the moles sat, disputing the words to the next thirty-odd verses.

While several beasts including Wolfbane were still in stitches, Ottakar and Maxillo stepped forward and began a comic traditional play they had learned in Southsward. Maxillo was heckling the Vermin King, played by Ottakar, when everybeast suddenly sat upright, aroused by something unnatural in the woods nearby. Drawing a short sword that had been laying on the ground, Wolfbane kicked out the fire, motioning to Ottakar and Shadowfeather to circle northward where the sounds had come from. Wolfbane went a few feet in the middle of the others, and they disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Long moments passed in the camp, lit now only by the moonlight. Suddenly they all heard the sounds of a struggle, and voices yelling out. There were two which were unrecognized.

"Ach, lay yer paws aff'n me ye vermin, an' Ah'll fight ye to mah die'n brith!"

"It's alright, we're friends-- Otta, Shadowfeather, put up your weapons, it's just a hedgehog."

"I say thah chaps, that's a bit strong-- a hedgehog? Never thought m'bally ears were that short, wot!"

Wolfbane laughed. "Looks like we're surrounded! Any others out there?" he called into the trees jokingly.

"Es thes the way ye always weelcome yer guests," the hedgehog asked, "or am Ah an ac'ception?"

"No, sorry," Wolfbane apologized, "but you can't assume anything when beasts come sneaking in on you."

"Ah onnerstan' then fren', but 'tis said the best way to a strange camp es 'roond. Mah name's Screech, or a'least 'tis whit Ah'm called. Ah'm looking for the new Forest Patrol-- et shoold be 'roondaboots, aye?"

"Well then, you've come to the right place, Screech. I am Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Commander of the Mossflower Forest Patrol."

As they shook paws the hedgehog took a second look at the Commander in the dim moonlight and took a jump back with a slight gasp. "Gads, 'tis a fox!"

"Aye," he laughed, "aye, I am. But unlike my own kind I have devoted my life to the protection of the weak and the upholding of good. It was these beasts you see here who elected me their Commander."

"I say, eh-- sorry t' interrupt, sahs," the hare cut in, "but got anything for a poor famished traveler? My tum's been growlin' f'rever-- a few hours, all said." Wolfbane winked at the hedgehog.

"How long 'ave you been with the hare? I'll wager the food disappeared quicker than a shadow in midwinter."

"Nay," the hedgehog winked back. "Ah thought th' shadow wis wi' you."

"Well we've never seen him before. Must be a coincidence."

"Er, hrmph, pardon me chaps, wot wot, pish tush an' all that rot, don't mean t'be churlish y'know, wot, eh, wot wot, eh… could y'spare a bite or two from y'bally formidable fare, wot?"

Wolfbane laughed again. "Of course, friend! What name do you go by?"

The hare wiggled his ears imperiously. "Jorman Longfeet, esquire, at y'service, sah!" He saluted smartly, knocking his heels and standing at attention.

"Hmm hmm, if only all our recruits were so enthusiastic," Wolfbane mused. He clapped the hare on the back. "Welcome to the Mossflower Forest Patrol!"

"Forest what, sah? Pardon, m' ears seems t'be--" Jorman suddenly eyed a pan of scones from Redwall. "Er, on second thought… I know all about Patrols an' wotnot! That's me, ol' Cap'n Longfeet, Patrols is what I do best!" He turned, eager to prove himself, and grabbed a nearby tent post to serve as an impromptu weapon.

The tent collapsed.


	12. Chapter 12

**__**

Chapter 12

Nighttime had settled on the vermin camp. The sentries kept a weary watch while most of the horde lay on the cold ground, drooling, snoring, and scratching. It was the kind of false peacefulness one could be sure of among vermin.

A conspiracy was afoot. A rat and a weasel slunk about in the shadows, unseen, headed for the tent of the hated captain Durg. This was the night. " 'Ere it is," Longtooth whispered, " 'tis now or never." They could hear Durg snoring inside his tent, and there were no guards around.

"Lead th' way, captain," Knobear whispered back, fingering his cutlass. The plan was very simple. Durg was finished. Quietly a flap was cut into the back of the tent and they crept in, weapons drawn. The tent was quiet and empty, but for the sleeping form of Durg on the ground. Longtooth turned.

"Alright mate, 'e's all ours. Cover me," he whispered. He heard no reply. "Knobear? Mate?" he called, looking out the back flap. A claw grabbed his neck, lifting him off the ground. His sword was wrenched from his paws and he found himself staring into the face of Skarliff Krigg.

"Gutless scum," the Warlord snarled, "this was your worst and final mistake. You see, I deal with traitors swiftly and surely in my horde. You should know that. Well done, Knobear."

Longtooth was dragged off roughly. He gulped hard as a single tear ran down his cheek. It hadn't been much of a life anyway; now at least he could be free.


	13. Chapter 13

**__**

Chapter 13

As morning broke and the sun rose over the vermin camp, it revealed the bloodied, tattered body of the former captain Longtooth hanging from a nearby tree. Nothing more was said. There was nothing more to say.

Krigg had his mind elsewhere this morning. He had been in deep thought all evening and night, and finally he called his captains to him to inform them of his plans. In a few minutes the horde captains has assembled themselves in the Warlord's tent: Durg the stoat, Fayde the rat, Terran the weasel, Stalgrin the fox, and the newest captain, Knobear the weasel.

"Insubordination," Skarliff began, "insubordination, treachery, and so-called heroism-- this is what I have had to deal with as of late. An overconfident fox and his seedling of an army, a traitorous captain, some mad woodland otter by the river who ambushes my soldiers, and now, so you have no doubt seen, I have had to deal with yet another ambitious captain. Know where your loyalties lie or that could be you as well." The remaining captains nodded. There were five of them, including the latest replacement: in better seasons there had been eight to ten captains serving under Krigg at a time. The balance of them had either been slain by battle or by their own overambition.

"Now," he continued, "two of my problems have been solved. But there still remains the matter of those who dare oppose me. This shall soon be remedied. Rather than engage this so-called army of woodlanders in combat, having lost the element of surprise, I have decided to apply the principles of the horde to that of our opponents: I shall capture the ringleaders of this rabble to show them just what the consequences of insubordination are." The Warlord studied the faces of his captains. "There is no need for the entire horde to break camp, as before; I will send only two of my captains for this task." He pointed to the fox Stalgrin. "You shall go. Knobear will accompany you. You have five days and five nights. You are to find the otter, and the fox, and bring them alive. Succeed and you will be rewarded. Fail and you might as well not return, though you will not be able to run long. Take with you fivescore of your companies." With this and a wave of his claw, Krigg dismissed the captains.

.

Brother Lucas was up early this morning. He had slept pleasantly and when he awoke he decided to have an early breakfast up in the gatehouse. Like his predecessors, he preferred the solitude of the early morning and his private, dusty wallside room. He entered the gatehouse with each paw carrying a part of his breakfast and set it on his desk so he could pull up his favorite chair. He found a mousemaid sleeping in it.

"Leslie!" he called as he shook her gently. "Leslie you rascal, wake up. You're in my chair."

Leslie blinked. "Go t' sleep," she muttered nearly incoherently, "go 'way, m'reading." She closed her eyes again.

Brother Lucas shook her again. "You've been up here all night, it's time to get up now."

Leslie opened her eyes and looked around. Shelves, papers, books, the edge of the chair, a paw, Brother Lucas. "Brother Lucas?" she yawned. "What time is it?"

"It's dawn already. I say, you've been sleeping up here all night. Does Sister Sara know where you are? No doubt she'll be sending out a search party to find you if you aren't in your bed."

She was awake now. "Sister Sara! I forgot! Didn't mean to fall asleep. Goodness, Friar Gringle's probably wondering where I am as well. Thank you Brother Lucas." Getting up hastily the mousemaid ran down the stairs of the gatehouse and dashed off.

Brother Lucas laughed and pulled up his chair to eat his breakfast and write in his Recorder's journal.

Threesday, the thirty-seventh day of the Autumn of the Breeze.

I started my morning off early and decided to drop into the kitchens. Friar Gringle equipped me with a most hearty breakfast, including his first batch of breakfast scones. I arrived at the gatehouse only to find I had been beaten there-- young Leslie was fast asleep in my chair, curled up as peaceful as ever! She apparently was up here all night an -- my my, what is this? I seem to be sitting on a book. Let's see what it is this time.

Hello! Two books. The journals of Brother Methuselah and John Churchmouse. That's from the time of Matthias the Warrior and the Vermin Wars! Leslie must have fallen asleep reading them. Just the other day I found her with the old journal of Abbess Germaine, of all beasts. It's so old the pages are near ready to crumble to dust! Somebeast should really look into preserving these old volumes better. So now, what of Methuselah and John Churchmouse? Perhaps I should investigate a bit myself. Something's been drawing young Leslie away from her work as a kitchenmouse, and I believe it has something to do with a certain Abbey Warrior named Martin!

I will conclude this entry for the morning. Old Brother Methuselah and Mr. Churchmouse call me. Ha, Leslie and I are of the selfsame fabric. She would make a fine Recorder someday, for all her great interest. I hope Gringle isn't too hard on her for being late this morning.

Now, on to my breakfast and a good book.

Lucas, Brother and Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

.

Sister Polly had just gotten up and was overseeing the washing and dressing of the Dibbuns when Sister Sara burst into the dormitory. "Is Leslie in here?" she asked, out of breath. "Tell me she's here. She's got to be. She's nowhere else, I know, I've searched everywhere and she's nowhere to be found. I checked my dormitory and she wasn't in her bed all night, and she's--"

"Calm down, Sara, come sit down," Polly said soothingly. "Leslie's not one to disappear without reason." Sara took a seat gratefully, fanning herself. Polly grabbed Dribber the molebabe with one paw as he was headed out the door and directed him back to the washbasin. "Even if it's to avoid being seen when Friar Gringle needs something done in the kitchens. Have you checked the kitchens? Suppose she's actually there this time."

"I don't remember if I have or not," Sara responded levelly. "I believe I will right now. If she's not down there she'll probably be somewhere around there. Thank you Sister Polly!" she called as she bustled out of the dormitory. Several Dibbuns followed. Polly pursued them, only to be followed by the remainder of the Dibbuns.

"Brilla! Mother Brilla, I need you now!"

.

Friar Gringle eyed Leslie sternly.

"I'm sorry, Friar Gringle, for being late. I know I was first to assist you on kitchen duty this morning." Leslie stared at the floor. "I would be happy to make it up to you by double dish duty, sir." What was she talking about? She would lose half her day and miss most of her lessons with Brother Lucas.

"Very well, young Leslie, I'll 'old ye to your word and trust this won't 'appen again. But come, young Siltburr took your turn, so ye c'n 'elp me know. Check m'breakfast scones, they should be ready t'cool soon."

.

Siltburr the mole sat down to a peaceful breakfast with the early risers in Cavern Hole. He had gotten up early this morning, as had Brother Lucas and a few others (it was, as Siltburr put it, "a h'early koind o' mornin' "), so he had decided to go on to the kitchens and take the first morning shift.

Siltburr was not a "kitchenmole", persay, nor did he have as great an interest in cellar work as Grubo and the other moles did. He just volunteered his time here and there hoping to find an interest somewhere. He enjoyed this and that, but always had a feeling that his "gurt talent" was yet to be found.

He was joined shortly by Sister Sara the Infirmary Keeper. "Gudd mornin' to ee, mizz Surra, do ee sit daown."

"Thank you, young Siltburr, and a pleasant morning to you. I found Leslie at last. How are you this morning?"

Siltburr shrugged. He didn't know Leslie was missing.


	14. Chapter 14

**__**

Chapter 14

Leslie didn't know it, but the Abbey lessons had been cancelled for the day. Brother Lucas was in the process of reorganizing his records and announced that his studious pupils would have to find something less exciting to fill their time with. Mother Brilla and the Abbey Sisters had plenty of suggestions of their own.

"I - am that is," Brother Lucas pondered, repeating the line over and over to himself. "Take on my mighty role… I - am that is, my sword will wield for me…"

The gatehouse door opened and shut. A loose paper blew across a mess of stacks of books and old papers on the Recorder's desk. Lucas looked up.

"Reorganizin', eh?" Rufus Rillflag said, eyeing the Recorder skeptically. He folded his arms.

Lucas sighed. "In the middle of it, yes," he responded and moved some papers around and into a stack to give an air of business. "What brings you up to the gatehouse?"

"I'm the Gatekeeper," the otter replied. "I come up 'ere quite often, ye may recall. Ah! it's comin' to ye now, is it? Aye, ye remembers yer ol' pal Rufus at last!" He smirked.

"Alright, alright, no need to be dramatic. All I meant was why were you up in a dusty gatehouse on such a cheery day."

"Quite chilly, actually, mate. S'not been good outside weather all day. Which leads me t'believe yew ain't been outside since mornin'." Rufus eyed the book in front of Brother Lucas. "What're ye up to, matey?"

Lucas shut the book. "Reorganizing."

"Reorganizin'?"

"Reorganizing."

"Alright mate, if ye says so. I'll be leavin' ye to yer 'reorganizin' ' then," Rufus smiled. He preferred not to pry past the point of common courtesy. If Brother Lucas said he was reorganizing, then to Rufus that was what he was doing.

"Thank you," nodded Lucas, returning to his book.

"Would y'like me t' send up some lunch, matey? Yew looks like ye 'aven't eaten a bit since mornin'."

"That would be most kind," Lucas answered, still facing his work. "I have much to do." After Rufus left Lucas stared at an open page from Abbess Germaine's earliest records. On it was a drawing of Martin the Warrior, clad in armor and holding his sword aloft.

"I don't know why…" he pondered. "But I feel, indeed, yes, I have much to do." Martin stared back. Yes my child, he seemed to say, much to do.

.

"Land ho!"

Captain Bloik of the _Blackhull_ heard his steersbeast's call and immediately was out on the deck. "Nor'east, Signa?" he asked as he scanned the horizon.

"Aye, yon," she answered and pointed out the distant shore.

The ferret captain quickly returned to his cabin to bring out his maps, shouting as he went, "All on deck! All on deck, mates!"

Among the crew were Ringnose, the first mate, Sainla the bosun and her sister Signa, as well as others such as Sagitta Tully, a female ferret who had been enlisted from another crew for this voyage, and Rosno, the lookout. After a few calculations and compass readings, Bloik and Ringnose guessed they were not far from the opening of a river indicated on the map, north of Salamandastron. They had succeeded in passing the mountain. If this was true, this "Redwall" was only a few days inland by way of the river, which came quite close to the Abbey. Orders were given and the ship made its way to the River Moss. As bosun, Signa and her sister were left in charge of a score of the crew to guard the ship. Bloik and Ringnose would lead the rest of the crew down the River Moss in a group of longboats brought all the way from Kortron. If all went well they would be on their way back to the Fortress within the week.

.

Stalgrin and Knobear had not been gone a full day when Skarliff Krigg's scouts brought news of fourscore vermin, corsairs, approaching on the River Moss. The Warlord led a score of his best scouts to meet the boats. Concealed by the trees he hailed the unknown crew.

"Hail! Who passes through our waters?"

"Honest sailors, friend," came the answer. "D'ye plan on stoppin' us?"

"Aye, perhaps. I have fivescore scouts surrounding your little boats, so it would be wise to state your name and business, friend."

"Merely passin' through. Th'name's Cap'n Bloik o' the _Blackhull_. And yew are?"

Krigg let his jaw drop slightly. "Th'name's Skarliff Krigg, Warlord of the North -- brother."

.

Captain Bloik of the _Blackhull_. So, he had done well for himself. Skarliff sat with his brother at the horde camp while the crew was tended to hospitably -- for vermin. "My brother," he said as they clasped claws. "How has life treated you?"

"I 'ave me own ship, as ye know. I am a cap'n in th' fleet of Lord Raslor of Kortron Fortress. 'Tis in the south shores. Wot 'bout yew, Warlord o' th' North?"

"Aye, yes," Skarliff laughed. "I am now Skarliff Krigg, Warlord of all you see here. There are well over 500 soldiers at my command, as you can see."

"Skarliff what?" snorted Bloik. "Where'd th' 'Krigg' come from?"

He laughed again. "It is derived from an ancient language long dead, meaning 'to kill'. I felt it adequate to take on the title of slayer when I became a Warlord. And yourself? The last I remember you were headed out to sea to seek your fortunes."

"Aye," Bloik answered, "I was th' lookout on a slave ship. As fortunes 'ave it, I soon became me own cap'n."

"Yes, yes. I wouldn't expect any less from one of our blood. But come, what brings you so far north?"

The captain lowered his voice. "There be rumor of a fabled h'Abbey 'ereabouts, some ways east and south of us. I'm on a mission t' find some famous sword stowed away there an' bring it back to m'lord Raslor."

"Speak to me, brother," the Warlord purred. "I may be able to help you. Tell me, do your maps show a forest nearby?"

Bloik looked over the map of Mossflower and nodded his head. "Aye, th' river cuts through it north o' the Abbey. 'Ave you been there?"

"Very recently," Skarliff answered thoughtfully. "So, there was a village after all; an Abbey. What is this Abbey called?"

"Redwall, brother. Th' Abbey of Redwall. Very perilous for vermin, so I've 'eard."

"Well I haven't. In the meantime let us draw plans together to recover this sword for you, my brother. Perhaps I may have something to gain in this as well." Their voices lowered in conference as the brothers plotted out a plan to plunder the perilous priory.

.

Outside Skarliff Krigg's tent Drigsno and another guard stood watch as always. " 'E sure does a lot o' plannin' in there," the guard commented lazily.

"Shh!" said Drigsno. " 'E's a Warlord, that's wot 'e does, stoopid."

"Addle brain."

"Weaselguts."

"Ooh, I'm wounded fer life."


	15. Chapter 15

**__**

Chapter 15

Outside the gatehouse, things were not near as humdrum as expected with the absence of the Abbey lessons. The Furgins had come for a visit to see their friends Gringle and Gardil, as the two hedgehog families had gotten on well since the feast. As Ragga got into mischief with the molebabe Dribber, Tera Vole and Hinkle, Stikle took to roaming the Abbey walls with his friends Leslie and Lingen, occasionally joined by the moles Grubo and Siltburr. They did not mind the chilly weather and enjoyed being slightly bundled up. It was also less busy outside with most beasts preferring the warmth of the Abbey building.

"So how are things with the new patrol?" Leslie asked the young hedgehog.

"Better than expected. We've got nearly twoscore already at Treestone, an' more are comin'. It seems the idea of a united woodland force is becomin' more and more popular."

"I say," Lingen observed. "It looks like we're in for quite a storm tonight." He pointed to the clouds in the western horizon.

"Yes," agreed Leslie. "Looks like there's trouble brewing in the west." An odd look came over her face, which she quickly shook away. "Aye, yes. A storm."

.

In the far northwestern reaches of Mossflower Wood stood a dead cedar tree. Carved into it was the home of a lone woodland hedgehog. He was not a hermit by any means, but much preferred the solitude of the trees to the chaos of crowded living. This particular afternoon he sat outside his doorway, whittling away after a hard day's work gathering food and fishing in the nearby stream. He was a slinger, and was well renowned for it in his part of the Wood. It was useful for dispelling unwanted guests.

A rustling in the trees announced the arrival of his neighbor, Shik, who lived by the stream. The hedgehog hardly raised his head to say, "Shik, for a squirrel, you sure are loud when y'sneak."

Shik bounded into view. "I wasn't sneakin', Grud, honest. I was comin' t'see you, I was."

"Right," muttered Grud. "Glad you're here anyhow, I could use some 'elp with m'new slings. Git on it."

"Righto," the squirrel said as he headed to the treeshack. He paused in midstride. "No wait, there was somethin' I came 'ere for. Wot was it..."

"Obviously. There's always somethin' y'want, Shik."

Shik clapped his paws together. "Oh, oh, I remember now Grud. I had somethin' t'tell ya. 'Twas important, it was."

"Go on, out wit' it then. Can't whittle all day y'know. I'm a busy hedgehog." Grud grinned rustically.

Shik didn't seem to notice. "Yes, yes, I know. Y'remember that young rip, Lingen something?"

"Lingen Reguba th' squirrel. 'E were here jus' th' other day."

"Aye, well I saw 'im today out at th' stream."

"Th' stream, eh? What brought him this far north?"

" 'E was goin' all over th' Wood, 'im an' other young rips; anyhow, he tol' me they're spreadin' word 'bout some goodbeast army bein' formed in th' South Wood. Quite odd, eh Grud?"

"Aye," Grud nodded, resuming his whittling. "Can't wait t'hear about it. Maybe word'll spread thisaways."

Shik stomped his footpaw. "But Gruuud, I jus' told you! Are y'just goin' t'whittle that stick 'til 'tis a pile o' sawdust?"

Grud laughed. He enjoyed giving his friend the runaround. " 'Tis alright, don't tie yer tail in a knot. Anyhow, did the Reguba say where this little army thing is at?"

"Tree something... Some glade. Treestone, I think. 'Tis off the Wood Moss path, north o' th' River. I dunno Grud, but m'curiousity 'as me wonderin' jus' wot it's all a-who. Wanna go give it a looksee?"

"Treestone, eh," Grud muttered to himself. "Near th' river, I got folks there. Alright, jus' t'see wot's goin' on. A once-over. But I'm comin' back first thing second mornin', if'n ye wants a travelin' pal th'way back. Ain't stayin' no longer."

"Aye, alright Grud. If ye says so. Ain't been down that way for a while anyhow, I ain't. Do some good t'these ol' muscles." Shik flexed his tail for effect. "YooooOOWW!"

"Sorry mate," Grud laughed. "Jus' tryin' out m'new sling, guess yer tail got in th' way. Works fine, I think I'll bring it with me for th' trip."

"I don't like that sling, Grud," Shik frowned, stroking his tail. "It hit me on assident."


	16. Chapter 16

**__**

Chapter 16

As had been predicted, by that night the storm had hit Redwall and Mossflower Wood. Cold winds surged through the trees and the great Redwall weathervane spun in odd directions during the night. Heavy rains beat down relentlessly and indiscriminately. This was a storm that would just have to be weathered out.

But somebeasts had differing orders. Half a score of vermin, corsairs and hordebeasts both, stealthily wove through the wet underbrush to the Abbey of Redwall. During the midnight hour they caught sight of its great walls and in no time at all they were just outside the north wall, unbeknownst to the Redwallers within, who were most likely seeking shelter from the treacherous storm. As if on cue a skilled corsair of Bloik's crew set to work immediately on the sturdy but wet wallgate. It swung open in a matter of seconds and the vermin entered stealthily as shadows.

.

Underground Cavern Hole was very crowded. Nearly all of Redwall was cramped in the dining hall because of the storm. Those who had been outside, such as Leslie, Lingen, and Stikle, had had to come in as soon as the chill winds arrived. Those upstairs, not quite limited to the frightened Dibbuns, were not at all comfortable with the flashes of lightening and the menacing thunder. The Abbeydwellers who had already been downstairs soon found themselves dreadfully crowded but had somehow made room for everybeast to be seated comfortably. Friar Gringle, Leslie, Benno, and others worked in the kitchens to provide a modest midnight meal for everybeast.

Instruments were soon brought out to drown out the storm: mole fiddles, flutes, drums, and whatever else was on paw. Before long a corner of the hall had been converted into a small jigging floor. Even Sister Polly was coaxed into dancing with the jovial hedgehogs and moles, joined by Brother Lucas and Skipper of Otters, who appeared to be all rudder. In one turnaround the otter had knocked over three hedgehogs behind him, who in turn bowled into Sister Polly, who fell flat on her back, laughing all the while. The storm and all other problems seemed to have been forgotten in light of the holiday of food and festivities in Cavern Hole.

Suddenly a small, shrill scream cut through the air. Tankards were dropped and the music waned out abruptly.

Cindy Vole jumped to her feet. "I know that scream," she squeaked. "My Tera!!"

Sister Polly, who was now angry at herself for becoming lax as the Dibbun keeper, shot off to the stairs to Great Hall, where the scream had come from, followed by Mother Brilla, Brother Lucas, Skipper of Otters, Rufus Rillflag, Dangur Furgin, and a few others. "Don't worry, Mrs. Vole, we'll see to this," she shouted as they left the hall of bewildered Redwallers.

.

Although the dwellers of Redwall Abbey had done well to keep everybeast inside, there appeared to be a stroke of luck for Captain Fayde and Lookout Rosno's party. They stumbled across a small vole child who had probably sneaked out of the Abbey building to play in the rain. Before she could scream the hordebeast Fayde had covered her mouth with one paw and placed his cutlass menacingly to her throat. "Now, missie," he warned, "let's not make any mistakes. Just answer our questions and you won't get 'urt."

The volebabe, Tera, nodded.

"This is th' Abbey o' Redwall?" Rosno, the corsair scout leader asked their captive.

Tera nodded.

"Tell me then, is there a great sword 'ung 'ere, a famous warrior's sword?"

She nodded, still wide-eyed but afraid to move.

"You'll lead us to it then," Fayde cut in impatiently, and pushed the volebabe before them.

She led them to the doors of Great Hall. They swung open slowly, squeaking slightly but quiet enough. There on the wall hung the sword of Martin the Warrior, which Tera had often admired while playing with her friends. It had been her friend some days, when she was by herself and had nobeast else to talk to. What these beasts wanted with it she didn't know, but they were not nice to her, and she knew that they were not planning anything nice for her friend. Rosno stood atop a table and took the legendary sword from its hooks, holding it aloft a few seconds before coming down with it. Fayde caught his breath when he saw it aloft, the Sword of Martin, with the light of a small candle flashing momentarily on the fabled blade.

Tera saw her chance and bit into his hand fiercely. The rat yelped slightly and let go of his hold on the volebabe. Growling, he raised his blade at her. She screamed, and crumpled to the floor.

What happened after that was all a blur. Sister Polly, Mother Brilla, and other older beasts were there, and there was shouting. Mother Brilla was holding something big, and then Fayde was bleeding. The vermin ran outside, no longer interested in Tera, and Brilla and the others followed. The sword was gone.

Then Sister Sara was there.


	17. Chapter 17

**__**

Chapter 17

The northern wallgate was propped shut to slow the Redwallers' pursuit. The vermin party ran through the forest, the sword safely sheathed on Rosno's back. When they were sure they had lost their pursuers, Rosno raised his paw. "C'mon mates, westward, th' _Blackhull_'s waitin'!"

"The _Blackhull_??" Fayde glared, pawing at his bleeding ear. "We're goin' back t'camp with that sword! Ain't no treachery gonna be allowed by this cap'n!" He eyed the precious blade.

"Yew ain't gonna stop us, horderat," Rosno challenged. "Come wid' us or die."

"Gimme that sword!" Fayde as he lunged for the sheath, greedily and wide-eyed.

He fell forward inches from Rosno's footpaw, a corsair dagger in his back. Rosno eyed the rat coldly and kicked his limp, outstretched paw. "Kill them all," he ordered without looking up. The remaining four hordebeasts backed away, drawing their blades and watching the corsairs menacingly. Before they could blink an eye two went down with a dagger in their throat. The third fought helplessly but was swiftly run through. The last hordebeast turned and ran, but found himself face to face with Rosno, who clouted him in the head with his cutlass. The horderat sunk like a stone.

Rosno turned his nose. "Landlubbers," he mumbled. Then, raising his paw, he led his corsairs on and disappeared into the mist, the Sword of Martin strapped on his back.

.

"This way," Mother Brilla called. "I hear something." The Redwallers ran in blind pursuit through the pouring rain until they came to a small clearing.

Brilla stopped, causing the others to check themselves abruptly. She took in the scene before her slowly. "Fur and fang," she whispered. "Our search is over."

.

There had been quite a commotion when Mother Brilla and Skipper had burst into the Abbey carrying a bleeding, unconscious rat between them. He was put into the Infirmary and tended to hesitantly by Sister Sara. There was an enormous gash on his head, which the Infirmary Keeper did her best to bandage. "I don't think he'll live out the night, Mother Brilla," she said softly.

"He has to," the Badger Mother said grimly. "The sword's still missing, and I'm afraid he's the only beast who can tell us where it is."

Sister Sara nodded.

.

The next morning Cavern Hole was all abuzz. Tera had been tended to with only a minor bruise, and in light of the royal treatment she was receiving, she soon forgot the trauma of the previous night. Then there was talk of a rat up in the Infirmary with Sister Sara. For some this spelled outrage. For others it was a great curiosity.

Leslie, Lingen, and Stikle found this especially intriguing, although Stikle was not allowed to leave the sight of his parents, as they were heading back to Treestone as soon as the minor flooding of the previous night cleared up. But the mousemaid and squirrel soon found their opportunity to steal upstairs. They stood outside the Infirmary where two sturdy otters stood guard, but before they could knock they heard a loud crash from inside. They stood back as the door swung open and a surprised Sister Sara and angry Brilla slammed it behind them. "That's it," she growled. "Slimy ingrate, nobeast throws a tray at Brilla the badger."

"What about the sword, Mother?" Sara asked.

Brilla growled again.

"I don't know, Sister."

As the two went downstairs with the remains of the rat's breakfast, Leslie and Lingen looked at each other. The mousemaid shrugged. "He's awake then."

.

Later that day Abbess Avelle came with Brilla and Sara to check on their patient. "He's locked himself in there," the Badger Mother said.

"Have you found out his name?" the Abbess asked.

"Yes," Sister Sara answered, "he said it last night. Clotfin, they call him. He talked to me early this morning for a bit. He said he wasn't always a hordebeast, he used to be a sailor. That's all he said. Mother Abbess, I'm concerned. He's on the verge of dying, and raving mad right now. He won't let us help him."

"We'll never get him to tell us where the sword is if he won't talk to us," said Mother Brilla. "We're stuck."

.

Things did not change as the day progressed. The rat kept himself locked in the Infirmary, pacing the room and talking to himself incessantly. At other times there would be a scratching noise on the door, but he never unlocked it.

That evening the otters reported that the rat had ceased all sound and movement. There had been a small crash, then nothing. Mother Brilla raced up the stairs. "Sorry, Sister," she said, and in two blows tore the door off its hinges and ran into the room. Sister Sara followed.

Mother Brilla turned and stopped her, shaking her head. "Sorry, Sister," she said again. "He's dead."

.

"I wonder what he was like," Lingen Reguba said to Leslie as they slowly entered the empty Infirmary. It was a few hours after Clotfin the rat had gone on to Dark Forest, and although nobeast but Sister Sara really knew anything about him, he had received a proper burial.

"He was vermin," Leslie answered. "But I guess even some vermin aren't necessarily bad. Like the Silvercoats. I wonder..." She pondered with her friend. "I wonder what his life was like before he got mixed up in all this. Sister Sara said he hadn't always been a hordebeast. He had done some sailing before that. Maybe he was a first mate. Or even a captain?" The mousemaid shrugged, then slapped her tail on the floor abruptly. "This is nonsense. We should go."

As the pair was about to leave the room, they stopped suddenly when they saw the door. It was impossible to tell who saw it first, but at the same moment the mouse and squirrel pointed at the unhinged door, saying to the other, "What's that?" They laughed, and then straightened it so they could see exactly what it was they had noticed. On the inside of the Infirmary door, there was a poem that had been scratched in with a knife. "Clotfin," Lingen whispered. Leslie nodded and read:

"Let the words of the dying,  
I who have been made weak,  
Aid you on your journey  
To regain that which you seek.

Tread your own shadows-  
Let your backs be warm.  
Steer clear the quarries  
To be safe from harm.  
South you must go-  
Avoid the grasses tall  
Till you reach the river wide.  
Mark well the heron's call;  
Follow the waters out;  
Be on your guard, friend,  
There will be many beasts  
To face before its end.  
At the sea's waters, due north  
Is the mountain of fire-  
Receive what aid you will  
But stay not long, nor tire.  
South is where you must go  
The great fortress of the sea-  
Trust not the foxlord red  
And return victoriously."

The friends looked at each other, trying to think of something to say. They couldn't, of course. Finally Leslie grabbed her friend by the tail and led him in tow. "C'mon, we'd better get going, before we're missed."

.

By that night, the poem had begun to grow and gnaw at the mind of Leslie the mousemaid. When she was sure Sister Sara was asleep, she sneaked out and went to Polly's dormitory. Everybeast there was asleep as well, so she silently found the bed of her friend, who was snoring happily. She clapped a paw over his mouth and roused Lingen with a slap to the belly. He looked up, trying to yelp but finding his mouth covered. Leslie put a finger to her mouth, motioning to be quiet and follow her. When they were outside the room on the stairway, Lingen, who was not at all happy at his interrupted slumbers, asked, "What's wrong, Leslie? It's the middle of the night."

"It's that poem," she whispered. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. That and Martin's sword. And... I'm going to get it back."

"Are you mad? We don't know where it is."

"Shh! We don't, but Clotfin did."

"Leslie!" started Lingen, but his mouth was covered up again.

"You'll wake the entire Abbey, acornbreath. Let's go outside with it."

When they got outside Leslie immediately took charge. "Now, we can't very well bring the door with us, so we'll need a parchment to copy the poem onto. I'll go--"

"Hold on, bossywhiskers! Who said we were going anywhere?"

"I did, of course," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Well, did I agree to it?"

Leslie crossed her arms. "Lingen Reguba, I'm going to go get this Abbey's sword back from whomever took it. I do not ask you to come with me, that's up to you. I was only hoping for the support of my best friend. But if that's too much to ask, then I'll just go it alone."

Before Lingen could come up with an answer to this, another voice chimed in. "Wot's this then? Where're ye goin' at this hour o' th' night?"

Leslie recognized the voice. "Stikle Furgin, what are you up to?" she demanded.

"What am _I_ up to, missie? I 'eard a noise an' followed it outside. What are _you_ up to?"

The mousemaid sighed. "Very well, Lingen and I are going to get the sword of Martin the Warrior back. Now you'd better get back before your family notices you're gone."

"Bosh," the hedgehog shrugged. "They're all asleep, they wouldn't know 'til morning. Let me come with you."

"Now hold on!" Lingen put in. "Lingen and you are _what_?"

Leslie sighed again. "Oh, very well," she said to Stikle. "The squirrel's staying here, but I am ever so grateful for the presence of a friend such as yourself, Stikle. At least there's someone I can count on. C'mon, I've got to get some parchment."

Leslie and Stikle left with the squirrel in their toll, who followed, saying, "Hold on, hold on! I never said I _wasn't_ coming, I was-- Oh, slow down. You'd think you were in a race. Well, this is one squirrel who isn't going to be left behind. Aren't you listening? I said,--"

"Shh!" Leslie turned. "I heard you. You're going to wake up the whole of Mossflower. Now stay here while I get the parchment. Surely I can trust you with that."

Leslie climbed the stairs to the gatehouse and slowly opened the door. Entering, she shut it behind her and went to light a lantern. The light illuminated the small room to reveal an aged mouse sitting in the room, watching her. Leslie gasped and nearly dropped the lantern. "M- Martin?" she said, her heart racing from shock.

"No," the figure said, "worse. Lucas."

"Brother Lucas!" she whispered. "I was-- just-- I--"

The Recorder laughed. "I know what you were doing," he said, leaning forward. "Martin told me."

Leslie looked up at the name. "You dreamt of him too?"

"Aye, I did."

"What did he say?"

"You know what he said, he spoke it to you also. That's why you're up here, it is not?"

"Yes, Brother Lucas. I was getting some parchment. Lingen and I, we found a poem in the Infirmary--"

Brother Lucas stopped her. "Aye, yes, the poem," he laughed. "So I wasn't the onlybeast to notice it. I have a copy already written, if you wouldn't mind taking it off my paws."

"Thank you, Brother Lucas," Leslie said as she received the parchment and made ready to leave.

"Hold on, young Leslie," the Brother said. "There was more that Martin spoke. He spoke of your family."

Leslie stopped and turned around. "My family? But I'm-- an orphan. Nobody ever knew my family."

"_We_ never did. But Martin, on the other paw, is a different story. He told me something tonight, about you. He said you had the blood of a warrior in you. I laughed, because I already knew that. He said no, you had the blood of a _Warrior_-- Matthias's family, no less."

Leslie was speechless. "Matthias," she breathed at last.

"Aye, Matthias. Matthias never knew it, but he had a family as well. His grandfather's name was Matthias, a great warrior and chieftain. His father's brother, Martin said, had also died opposing Cluny the Scourge, way back in the Vermin Wars. He had a son, Marklo, who was carried to safety. Marklo, too, devoted his life to the protection of the weak. He married and passed on this calling to his son, who in time passed it on to his own children." Lucas placed a paw on Leslie's head gently. "That is your line. Your parents were noble as any; Martin would not tell me how they died, but only that they died honorably. You are a daughter of Matthias the Old, and that is something to be proud of." Lucas took the lantern from her, placing it on an empty table. "You'd better be off then."

.

Leslie walked back down the stairs, parchment in hand. Something had happened to her up there, but neither Stikle nor Lingen knew exactly what it was or how to ask. She broke the silence. "I've got the poem. Brother Lucas was in the gatehouse, but don't worry, he said he wasn't going to stop us. Quite the opposite."

"Then oughtn't we be going?" Lingen asked impatiently. "We'd better get as much ground covered as possible before morning comes and they find us missing."

"Hurr, you'm ain't a-missin', oi sees ee wit' moi own eyes. Burr aye." How he had made his way into the group unnoticed, nobeast knew, but Leslie turned at the sound of the voice and found Grubo the mole among them.

"Grubo! You too, eh?" Leslie scolded.

Lingen rolled his eyes and sighed hard. "How many more are going to pop up before we actually leave?"

Leslie ignored him. "What are you doing here, Grubo? You should be asleep."

"Hurr, oi followed ee. You'm wuz quoite loud when ee were talkin' to zurr Lingah, so oi decoided to see what ee wurr up to."

Leslie looked at the squirrel. "I told you," she muttered. "Well, we're going on a trip and we don't want to be followed, so please don't give a word about this to anybeast, alright?"

Grubo stomped his footpaw. "Oi won't tell nobeast, oi bain't no tartletell! Oi bain't been a Dibbun for ee whole seezun, oi be's a growed mole now!"

"Good then," Leslie laughed. "You'd better get back now, we've got a long way to go tonight and a short time to do it."

"Hurr," Grubo grunted persistantly. "They'm treat me loike ee choild 'ere, carn't oi cumm with you? Mayhaps they'm'll start treatin' oi as ee growed beast. Oi promises on moi honor, oi won't get in ee way!"

Lingen shook his head. "I don't think so, Leslie, it's not such a good idea."

"It'll be too dangerous," Stikle agreed. "He'd be better off--"

"Martin," Leslie interrupted firmly. "Martin the Warrior."

"Pardon?" Lingen asked.

"Martin the Warrior. He was the one who said to go, and told Brother Lucas to help us. Grubo, you can come."

Stikle looked at her. "But what's Martin got to do with this?"

"Think about it. Martin already said for Lingen and me to go, and brought you to help us. He may have sent Grubo as well. I think he should come. We may thank Martin for it later."

"Ahh," Stikle said after a pause. "I guess may'aps you're right."

Lingen threw in as well. "Me too, either way, the more the merrier. C'mon, Grubo." He looked around. "Grubo?"

Grubo called to them from outside the opened gates. "Burr, ee best be getten ee move on, zurrs and mizz, bain't but ee few hours t'sunroise! Hurr!"


End file.
